


Sell Me the Secrets of Love with a Pint of Blood

by Skulduggery



Series: Bloodverse [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels and Demons, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Humor, Demon Thorin, F/M, Fem!Bilbo takes none of his shit, Female Aragorn, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Invasion of Privacy, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Rule 63, Seduction, Temptation, Thorin creeping on fem!Bilbo like yeah, Thorin has no sense of morality whatsoever, Voyeurism, so many hell puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skulduggery/pseuds/Skulduggery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hadn’t been the eye contact that startled her, or even the instant attraction that she struggled to tamp down with considerable fluster. It had been the brazen candor in those eyes, the unhesitant confrontation that promised a thousand things in the space of a heartbeat. The look was simultaneously distant and intimate—the sort of exchange reserved for the privacy of lovers, utterly audacious coming from an untested stranger in a cozy little coffee shop.</p><p>~</p><p>Bella Baggins thinks she's crazy when she starts seeing the reflection of a handsome stranger who's never actually there. Thorin is a King of Hell, the Lord of Silver Fountains-- and he's decided to claim her for his queen.</p><p>Modern Demon AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With All the Sins of the World in His Iris

**Author's Note:**

> "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” -Mary Shelley

The first time she saw him, she thought she’d gone mad.

Hot chai first thing in the morning had become more than just a nicety the moment Bella Baggins had opened up her own business. Setting foot into the shaky world of independent entrepreneurship she’d nearly been swept away by the flood of important day-to-day decisions, each one weighing in with all the gravity of either saving her business or tossing it out with the trash. A clear head, she thought, was the only reason she’d been met with success over the years since then. She’d always thought that chai tea tasted just a bit like liquefied pumpkin pie; surely if one sought a clear head first thing in the morning, there could be no better remedy than that.

She’d first spotted him in the midst of the morning coffee scramble. Two things were certain when living and working in the heart of an urban arts district: the first was that a coffee shop to die for would never be more than a stone’s throw away. The second was that where there was excellent coffee to be had, the arts crowd would undoubtedly follow.

She’d bid Bofur a fond farewell as he ducked out the shop door, and as she turned to watch him walk away through the glossy bank of windows tucked right up against the street, she’d caught _his_ reflection in the window pane.

A stranger in a sea of familiar faces. His features were chiseled and hard, razor sharp, molded too beautifully on top of a bone structure that could shear through stone. Rich black hair, combed effortlessly back, streaked with hints of grey—though it wasn’t age he wore on his face so much as sophistication. She’d never seen a brow set in such a naturally stormy state; all the same, it was beautifully suited to the color of his eyes. Steely grey. Or blue. Blue-grey like the sea in a tempest. Simultaneously light and dark, brisk and clear and smoldering hot as embers.

And he’d been staring right at her.

It hadn’t been the eye contact that startled her, or even the instant attraction that she struggled to tamp down with considerable fluster. It had been the brazen candor in those eyes, the unhesitant confrontation that promised a thousand things in the space of a heartbeat. The look was simultaneously distant and intimate—the sort of exchange reserved for the privacy of lovers, utterly audacious coming from an untested stranger in a cozy little coffee shop.

She’d turned to find him in the room, mustering her courage to ask why he’d been staring, but as she’d searched among the faces in the crowd she found that he simply wasn’t there. When she’d glanced back at the window, his reflection, too, was gone.

The second time she’d spotted him was in a mirror in her humble little floral shop, Bag End. It’d been closing time; once the doors were locked, she’d turned up her favorite station on the radio and danced her way through the closing procedures. When she’d pivoted, she’d expected to find herself face to face with the mirror—but not with the handsome stranger she spied in it, leaning on the counter at the back of the shop and smiling at her. It had nearly scared her heart out of her chest, and when she’d turned to confront him about it, she’d found once again that he simply wasn’t there.

The first few weeks of these sightings had worried her that stress was finally taking its toll, and she was indeed losing her mind. She’d fretted that her friends might dismiss her if she told them, so she’d secretly gone to one doctor after another, describing the encounters and hoping for a rational explanation. Most threw expensive prescriptions at her to try—she gave each one a chance until she spotted him again. Eventually, after she felt she’d run the gamut of doctors and drugs, she did away with them entirely, sure that she was much healthier without them—even if a beautiful stranger did occasionally crop up in places he had no right to be.

By then, she’d grown completely confident that the stranger was, in fact, just a figment of her imagination. Startlingly vivid, and undoubtedly some symptom of a much greater problem, but she’d heard of far worse delusions than strikingly attractive men who only showed up in reflective surfaces.

Eventually she started talking to him. He made for a better companion than her cat, Lobelia—the intelligence in his eyes that told her he was listening, even if he never talked back. And though she could never touch him or view him any nearer than a cold distance, she told herself that she preferred it that way. She’d never cared much for the company of real people, with the exception of a few of the friends she’d made since moving to the arts district; it was probably better for her if he was nothing more than a lovely, patient reflection.

* * *

 

The first night that changed was the night of the first heavy rainstorm of summer. The shop was locked up downstairs, and Bella was curled up comfortably in the apartment above it, a cup of Earl Grey in hand and a book in her lap. She hadn’t been reading for quite some time; Lobelia had long since sprawled possessively across the pages, effectively blocking Bella’s view and demanding the attention of her petting hand.

Eventually, Bella had lost herself in thought; distracted by the thunder and the curtains of rain that pelted her windows, she watched the streams of water creep like tears down the glass. It roused a quiet forlorn feeling deep inside and, in the midst of her melancholy, she became distantly aware that she was hoping to catch sight of her imaginary friend. Though hot tea and a soft, cuddly cat were fine things to enjoy in a rainstorm, she couldn’t help feeling that tonight was the perfect night for company.

With a sigh, she picked up the cat and set the book aside, moving to the window. “He must be busy tonight. I guess it’s just you and me, Bebe.” She lifted Lobelia to give her an affectionate kiss on the head, but when the cat began squirming to get down Bella was forced to oblige. “That is, unless you’re busy too.” Bella turned wistfully back to the window as her pet climbed back onto the warm couch, her mind dwelling on the stranger.

Though she knew he was her own pathetic delusion, she couldn’t help treating him as a person—with respect, kindness, the same sort of cordial consideration that she might show to any one of her real friends. That was precisely the reason she had never given him a name. Though she was aware these things usually had names, none had manifested in her consciousness with his image, and every time she began thinking about it, all the usual names seemed a poor fit. She felt far more comfortable simply calling him _her stranger_ ; it was perfectly accurate, for all that it was simultaneously intimate and distant. Though she was possessive of him, she would never truly feel that they were anything except strangers. She knew nothing about him, and probably never would.

“Who are you?” she breathed absently. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the trails of water running down the window, and she could have sworn she saw words spelled out in the lines of glistening rain.

“The Lord of Silver Fountains,” she read aloud without thinking. Just as quickly, the words were gone, and when she refocused her eyes she spotted the familiar reflection over her shoulder.

“There you are,” she said with a warm smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up. Busy night at the office, hm?”

“Something like that.” The sound of his answer came from behind her, spoken in a low, rich voice with a northern accent, and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned around. This time, it wasn’t an empty room that she faced, but her tall, dark stranger, undeniably in the flesh. Lobelia hissed as Bella retreated back against the window, too shocked to scream.

“Y—you…” she stammered incoherently, unable to muster anything resembling a coherent sentence. He watched her with an air of amusement, that familiar smirk curling up the corners of his lips.

“Good evening, Miss Baggins,” he greeted with a formal nod of his head. “I think it’s time I introduced myself. My name is Thorin.”

“Thorin,” she repeated automatically. The name clicked in her mind, immediately feeling right, for all that the situation was utterly impossible.

“The King Beneath the Mountains,” he continued. He started to advance toward her, and with each step that brought him closer, Bella shrunk back against the window. “The King of Carven Stone. The Lord of Silver Fountains shall come into his own.”

“The Lord of Silver Fountains,” she mimicked again. “That was—“

“Me, yes,” he confirmed, stopping in front of her. Though she’d noticed he was tall and quite large from his reflection, it wasn’t until he was standing right there that she realized just how intimidating he really was. The impossible breadth of his shoulders threatened to swallow her whole where she cowered in her tiny corner.

“I’ve lost it,” she whimpered, staring up at him. He seemed far too complete to be just her imagination; everything from the rustle of his black jacket to the dark stubble on his jawline screamed at her that he was real, that he was palpable, that she could _reach out and touch him_.

She didn’t. She was hung up on the realization that somehow this was happening, and _oh_ _god_ she really was crazy.

“You aren’t insane,” he said, his voice softening to a low rumble in his chest. He reached out to run his thumb experimentally down her cheek, and though she knew she should have shied away from the touch, the tangibility of it was strangely comforting.

“You’re not real,” she answered firmly, reinforcing it in her own mind and informing him of the fact. “Y-you’re a delusion, induced by stress and—and a tragedy of a sex life, and—“

“That’s what they told you.” Thorin’s brow furrowed with disapproval. “And you believed them.”

“Of course I believed them!” Bella exclaimed emphatically. “They’re doctors! They get sued for saying things you shouldn’t believe!”

“Unless they don’t know what they’re talking about,” he countered, angling his chin downward.

“Oh, and I suppose you do?” she scoffed. “ _You’re_ not _real_!” She gave his chest an experimental prod, frowning not only when she was met with substance, but _boy_ , was she met with _substance_. He didn’t so much as budge. The urge to feel him up then and there itched at the back of her mind and she swatted it away in annoyance.

“Well, not real to anyone _else_ ,” she amended pathetically.

“Am I not?” he asked, the hint of a wry smile pulling at his face once more. He backed away from her and started toward the couch, where Lobelia stood with hackles raised. The cat hissed defensively as he drew near, and the moment he reached a hand in her direction she darted away—likely to hide beneath Bella’s bed.

“But… that’s impossible,” she managed weakly, leaning back against the window for support.

“You’re going to reevaluate your understanding of that term very soon,” he remarked, moving toward her again. He pulled her into the strong, supportive brace of his arms, guiding her toward the sofa to sit down.

“Your reflection,” she said, shaking her head.

“Was simply a means of getting to know each other.”

“ _You_ getting to know _me_ ,” she corrected, giving him a sharp look that she feared came across more as a childish pout. “You never said a word.”

Thorin smiled in amusement, his gaze never leaving her face. “You seemed happy enough talking for the both of us.”

Bella grimaced at that, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. “I told you things... bloody hell, I _told you things_.”

“Yes, you did,” he agreed, the smile never leaving his face. Okay, so he was a bit of a cheeky bastard when he opened his mouth.

“How did you do it?” she grumbled, smoothing her hands over her jeans and avoiding his eye. She was dreaming, this had to be a dream, and any moment she was going to wake up.

“I can do many things.” It felt like he was dodging the question, but that didn’t bring her any closer to believing this was real.

“Alright, so let’s just pretend for a moment that this is actually happening,” she said, taking a deep, steadying breath. “If this isn’t a dream—which I’m sure it is—and _you’re_ not a delusion, then what are you? Some sort of magician?”

“A devil, actually,” he corrected as he leaned back against the couch, and the blasé note to his voice was truly terrifying. “ _Your_ devil.”

“Ah. Ahaha,” she gave a nervous laugh devoid of humor. “A devil. _My_ devil, no less? Does that mean I get a guardian angel, too? What—did he miss the training seminar?”

“That’s his business, not mine,” Thorin said, his expression darkening.

“Oh, for hell’s sake!” Bella cried, grabbing a pillow and bludgeoning him with it. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to believe I haven’t gone completely batty!”

“That expression ought to be retired,” he replied coolly, showing only the slightest flinch when she hit him with the pillow. “Hell is thriving nowadays, and needs nothing done in its favor.”

Bella gaped at him, wondering where exactly the madness was going to end. She felt utterly adrift—everything was too real to be a dream, tangible and permanent and not the least bit like a Dali. But she refused to believe it. There was a stranger living in her head, certainly, but the moment he stepped _outside of her head and into her apartment_ was where she drew the line. Even if he was handsome and had abs firm enough to make Adonis cry. Subtly she drew her fidgeting hands together in her lap and pinched herself, just to make sure, but to her great disappointment the experiment yielded nothing but a twinge of sharp pain.

Thorin studied her face as she stared at him and there was a shift in his expression that she couldn’t read. “I should go,” he sighed, looking out toward the rainstorm. “I came because you were so desperate for company. I see now that it was a mistake. You weren’t ready.”

“No, but.” The protest escaped her mouth before she had the chance to register it, and in the brief silence that followed she fumbled with her feelings. Admittedly, she still thought this whole thing was completely insane. But she _had_ been feeling terribly lonely, and he’d saved her from that—in his own impossible way. As much as his arrival had shaken the foundations of her entire world, she resented the idea of going back to being alone.

“Will I see you again?” she asked meekly, looking up at him with imploring eyes. He answered her with a smile, and the way it warmed her from head to toe made her acknowledge for the first time that perhaps he really was a devil.

“If you like,” he answered, borrowing her hand from her lap. Before she could register what was happening he had pressed his lips into the sensitive skin of her palm. That tiny impression of skin against skin rang out through her whole body, causing her breath to hitch and her heart to thrum with excitement.

And in the blink of an eye he was gone. She was alone in her apartment again with a cup of cold tea and the ebbing storm, still completely lost as to what had just happened.

 _Well, better the devil that you know,_ she thought to herself.

Then she immediately began to contemplate how many reflective surfaces in the apartment she could potentially cover up with the ample stock of blankets in her cupboard. She’d already taken precautions with a few—the mirror in the bathroom had long since been taken down, for example, and the mirror in her bedroom was draped with a blanket depending on how adventurous (read: _desperate_ ) she was feeling on a given day. Tonight, the blanket was definitely happening.


	2. Personal Demons: New and Improved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bella opens the shop the next morning, she discovers that her torment is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since a lot of this chapter takes place in the shop, I wanted to clarify a bit about the setting. It's based on a real place, and I've posted pictures of it on Tumblr [here](http://rainbowpuppy.tumblr.com/post/73236573200/dirt-design-studio-in-the-bishop-arts-district-of).

“You look like you’ve had a night from hell,” Bofur commented, sliding a hot chai across the counter of the floral shop. She’d woken up late and hadn’t had time to stop for her usual cup—Bofur’s gift was nothing short of divine.

“You have no idea,” Bella groaned, reaching automatically for the cup. She didn’t even mind when it singed her tongue.

“Care t’ talk about it?” he pressed, drumming his fingers eagerly on the counter. “Don’t suppose it would have anything to do with late night guests of the _particularly_ _sexy_ variety?”

 _Yes, actually,_ her mind supplied before she could stop herself. It was truly annoying just how close to home his comments kept hitting. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she dismissed irritably, already knowing the answer.

So far as she could tell, Bofur didn’t actually have a job or—well, really even _live_ anywhere. He always seemed to just wander the district, sticking his nose in everyone’s business. Despite that, he didn’t _smell_ homeless, and he was decent enough company on rough mornings like this.

Bofur laughed, drawing back from the counter to dawdle absently around the shop. She knew he was just waiting for the hot tea to do its work; the moment she appeared to be the slightest bit more agreeable, he’d be grilling her again. Until such an opportunity arose, Bag End offered a wealth of diversions, filled to the brim with potted plants and flowers and assorted knickknacks. It was built from a refurbished factory space—the original building had been chopped up into multiple units with shops below and apartments above. She’d painted the walls in welcoming, earthy hues and hung them with vintage Victorian posters and chalkboards, giving herself plenty of room for writing messages to guests. The floor was cluttered with rustic tables, shelves, desks, chairs—even ladders, and every one of those surfaces boasted foliage of some sort. It was a very homey space, and when the weather was agreeable, they would prop the doors open to invite wandering tourists inside.

“That should be the last of them,” Dwalin said gruffly, emerging from the back room. Once the shop had gotten busy enough, she’d been too swamped to visit the plant suppliers personally—even after she’d hired a few extra helpers. At first she’d been a bit hesitant about entrusting her orders to the gruff Scotsman, whose reputation as a deliveryman of every flavor (anything you could need, he could get—and that meant _anything_ ) had done him more harm than good where her opinion was concerned. But he’d proven to be reliable as clockwork, and furthermore, he had a discerning eye for quality. Once he had almost cuffed a man for trying to sell her a stock of diseased roses. Since then, she’d trusted him explicitly. Though every so often she did have to insist that he not resort to any sort of physical assault on her behalf.

“Ori, would you mind starting the centerpieces for the Helstone wedding?” Bella requested absently, flipping through her planner to see what other orders would need to be filled today. “Thank you, Dwalin—you’re a godsend, as always.”

The deliveryman snorted, offering no reply as he leaned to fill up his water bottle at the sink.

“Remind me,” Ori said, coming out of the back room with two bundles of roses, “Did the Helstones decide to go with blush roses or peach?”

Bella instinctively glanced up into the mirror to address Ori’s reflection—but when she saw Thorin smiling at her from the door to the back room, she flinched as if she’d been physically slapped. She was still skeptical as to whether or not the events from the night before had been a dream, and though the silent image was a familiar delusion, she was suddenly nervous at the thought that he could pop out of his reflection at any moment and come waltzing into real life.

With that idea in her head she whipped around, paranoid that he might actually be standing in her shop, but to her relief there was nothing but empty space behind Ori. When she glanced back at the mirror, his reflection, too, was absent.

“Ahh, so you finally met him,” Bofur hummed, looking oddly self-satisfied as he moseyed back over to the counter. “Thought as much.”

“I—I’m sorry?” Bella blinked at him, utterly confused. There was no way he knew about her stranger, so who could he possibly be talking about?

“Thorin,” Bofur provided, and Bella felt her heart skip a beat.

“You finally met Thorin?” Ori asked, looking delighted. “Oh, marvelous!”

“That’s why you’re so tired,” Bofur puzzled out with a wry expression. “Say, did the two of you—?” He made a suggestive movement with his hand and Bella’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

“How—on Earth??” Grasping the arm of her chair, she put a hand to her chest and focused on trying to steady her breathing. “Listen, something completely mad is going on around here, and if someone doesn’t start offering me a good explanation…”

“Oh, well that’s easy. He’s my boss.” Bofur looked entirely too comfortable saying as much, and she still wasn’t convinced they were talking about the same— man, devil, delusion, or whatever Thorin happened to be.

“Your boss,” Bella echoed flatly. “And you do what, exactly?”

“I’m a demon,” he sniffed conversationally. “An imp, to be more specific, but there’s always room for climbing the corporate ladder. You’d be surprised how often they switch out the upper management—what with all the mutinies and such. Thorin’s one of the more stable balrogs.”

Bella stared at him agape, then slowly turned a cautious eye toward Ori and Dwalin. Both were perfectly serene as they listened to the conversation, not showing the slightest hint of unease or—more importantly—humor.

“This is a prank,” she said, gripping the chair firmly. “You all found out that I’m mad and you’re playing a prank on me.”

“No, no, Bofur’s right,” Ori reinforced in a friendly tone. “He’s an imp that serves the Lord of Silver Fountains. So am I. Dwalin too, but he’s a balor, not an imp. He ranks just below Thorin.”

Bella clapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head in disbelief. If it was hard to swallow the thought a devil had been shadowing her steps via reflections for the past few months, it was just beyond belief to think that the same surly Scot who delivered her flowers every day happened to be his right hand man. And Ori. A _demon_.

With a snort, Bella buried her face into her palm and began to shake with hysterical laughter.

“Is she supposed to be reacting like that?” Dwalin asked, craning just a little to get a better view of her face.

“There are worse ways she could react,” Bofur answered with a shrug.

Slowly, Bella’s laughs turned into sobs and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t help it—she’d known that a breakdown was lurking on the horizon from the moment she’d crawled into bed the night before, and now in the face of this unexpectedly cruel prank from her friends it was inevitable. “Why are you picking on me like this?” she moaned in a wobbly voice. “What did I ever do to any of you?”

“Like that,” Bofur added, cocking his head in Bella’s direction.

“Here now,” Ori cooed, leaning down to pat her on the shoulder and press a rosebud into her hand. “We’re not picking on you, I promise. It’s the truth.”

“ _If you’re demons then why should I believe you?_ ” she snarled, swatting the rosebud at him.

“Because we’re also your _friends_ ,” he told her with a reassuring nod. The irony of it only managed to elicit a wail of grief.

“Thorin would probably tell you himself, but it seems you’ve run him off,” Dwalin commented from where he leaned against the sink.

“ _I’ve_ run him _off??_ ” Bella echoed incredulously. “He is the very _furthest_ thing from a victim here! Also, _he’s not real!_ ”

“True,” Dwalin conceded, a considering look on his face as he completely ignored that last bit. “But he’s at _your_ beck and call. He won’t come if he’s unwelcome.” He paused before amending his statement. “Well—let’s make that a _probably_ won’t come.”

“He _is_ a devil, after all,” Ori explained sympathetically.

That was what pushed her over the edge. Clutching the rosebud tightly, she nudged past Ori and Dwalin, fled out the back up the stairs to her apartment, and locked the door behind her to escape whatever it was that was happening below. She slunk down onto the rug, back against the door, leaning down to breathe deep the sweet and familiar perfume of the rose. It grounded her just a little, bringing her back down to reality.

“Dwalin is right, you know.” A voice sounded from down the hall, and she froze. “About my _probably_ not coming if I’m unwelcome.”

Her mind raced searching for some inkling of how to react. Her instinct was to continue fighting against it, push him out the door and bid him farewell. Then she could banish her unfaithful friends and never look into a reflective surface for the rest of her life. But the notion was beginning to exhaust her, and she could feel her resolve start to crumble.

“What am I supposed to do?” Bella asked quietly, not looking up at Thorin. She stayed focused on the rose—the most normal thing in her life at the moment.

“Stop trying to convince yourself that you’re mad, for one thing.” He was moving closer, his footsteps surprisingly quiet considering his size.

“And what?” Bella scoffed. “Just—accept that a devil and his posse have invaded my life?”

“That would be ideal.” He stopped directly in front of her where she could see his polished black shoes. They looked expensive, and she had the sarcastic thought that business must be going well.

Then he knelt on the floor and that warm thumb she remembered from the night before was brushing the tears away from her cheek. She resisted the urge to look up at him, terrified of what she would find. But when he leaned closer and unexpectedly pressed his lips against her forehead, she tore her gaze away from the rose to meet his eye.

“I thought devils were supposed to be evil,” she observed, swallowing back the tightness in her throat.

“I am,” he assured her without so much as a blink. “But not to you.” The look in his clear eyes was strangely intent, as if she was the center of his universe at that moment, and she was tempted to shy away again.

Instead she borrowed his large hand from where it rested against the side of her face, examining the weathered skin and calloused palm. She could see dark, fine hair where it dusted over the back; she could count the lines in his knuckles and trace the half-moon shapes of his fingernails. Utterly, undeniably, unfairly real.

“I should sue you for violation of privacy,” she grumbled, upset at her own fascination with his hand.

“You seem fixated on the idea of suing someone,” Thorin observed. “If wealth is your concern—“

“It’s not,” she asserted firmly, looking up to meet his eye. “And whatever it is you’re thinking, just don’t.”

“I could give you riches beyond your imagination,” he promised with a sly smile. “Comfort the likes of which you can scarcely comprehend. You’d never have to work again.”

“I like working, thank you very much,” she protested. “Besides, I hate to think what you’d be asking for in return.”

“Very little,” he reassured her. “All I want from you is your body and soul.”

Bella couldn’t help the startled cry she gave as she shoved him away from her and stood. “You’re mad!”

“Probably,” he admitted. Her push had barely rocked him, and as she stood he too rose easily to his feet. “But if you’ve forsaken the notion that _you_ are insane in favor of _me_ being insane, I’ll call it an improvement.”

She glared at him at that, and without giving him an answer, she unlocked the door behind her and hurried down the stairs back to the shop. When she stormed back in, she found that Dwalin, Ori, and Bofur were still chatting happily as Ori trimmed the peach roses for the Helstone centerpieces.

“You’re all fired!” she cried, reaching for the tea that had cooled considerably.

“I don’t work for you,” Bofur said blithely.

“I don’t care!” she exclaimed, slamming the tea down with more force than was probably necessary. “You’re still fired!”

“Belay that,” Thorin contradicted coolly as he followed her through the back door, and Bella made a frustrated noise. “She’s just suffered a small breakdown and she’s not thinking rationally.”

“You’ve got no right!” she argued helplessly, finally throwing the abused rosebud at him.

“If you fire Ori and Dwalin you’ll cripple your shop,” Thorin reasoned. “I suppose you’re going to fire Fili and Kili, too?”

“Fili and Kili?” Bella blinked, her tantrum temporarily snuffed by confusion. “What—no, they’ve got nothing to do with this. It isn’t as though they claim to be demons.”

“Well, actually,” Bofur muttered.

“What.” She looked at Bofur then back to Thorin, waiting for an explanation.

“They are demons,” Thorin provided, moving closer. “They’re my nephews.”

“ _Fucking hell!_ ” Bella exclaimed just as an elderly couple strolled into the shop. They took one look at the dramatic gaggle behind the counter and walked right out again. That was one reason she ordinarily refrained from such strong language—but today would have to be the exception. “Is there anyone in this town that _isn’t_ a demon?”

“Plenty,” Dwalin said, inspecting his tattooed knuckles.

“It’s just most of the people you talk to who are,” Ori supplied helpfully.

“That really is something.” Bella shook her head at Thorin in disbelief. “I think you’ve singlehandedly managed to elevate the meaning of _stalker_.”

“It’s what we do,” Thorin answered with a casual shrug.

“You’re hopeless.”

Then there was a quiet knock at the front door of the shop, and all of them turned simultaneously to see a tall, brown-haired man leaning inside as if he were peering into a warzone. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Bard!” Bella cried in relief. Despite the fact that most of her friends didn’t seem to like him much, Bella had become very close to Bard, and even harbored a small flame for him—not that he ever needed to know that. But as she began to rush to the door and give him a hug, she abruptly stopped herself. “Wait. You’re not in on this, are you?”

Bard gave her a confused look as he stepped inside, and when she glanced over her shoulder, the sour expressions on the others’ faces all but confirmed that he was, blissfully, human. That was all she needed—she crossed the floor to him and threw her arms around his neck in an affectionate hug. “I’m _so_ happy to see you.”

She could have sworn she heard him huff a quiet laugh. “And as always, it’s a pleasure to see you, too,” he said, winding his arms around her form and giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is about?” He drew back to arm’s length, his hands bracing her shoulders. She could see him studying his face, and she had little doubt that he’d noticed the evidence of tears in her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” she breathed. “Just my friends playing a little prank on me, that’s all.”

Bard cast a wary eye toward the group at the counter, who were all looking on in disgruntlement. “That’s not very nice,” he said, moving toward them. “Thorin, I should think you ought to be able to keep your lackeys on a leash.”

Bella’s jaw almost dropped to the floor. “You _know_ him?”

“We’ve crossed paths,” Bard replied, and those three words brought up more questions than they answered.

“How? How have you crossed paths?” she demanded, moving between them. When Bard ignored the question, she turned to Thorin, who seemed too preoccupied with his glaring to even notice her.

“This is completely absurd!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot. The childish tantrum was coming back in full force, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“It’s alright, Bella,” Bard soothed, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “They’re troublemakers through and through, but they’ll do nothing to harm you. If they get out of hand, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’d be more than happy to help any way that I can.”

“Thank you, Bard.” She felt some of the tension leave her shoulders at that, even if she still had no idea what was going on. He cast one last warning look toward Thorin then turned to go, and as he did, Bella could have sworn that she heard Dwalin mutter something about mercenaries under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, all my love and thanks to the wonderful folks who took the time to comment on the first chapter, especially the many unregistered users. I was really uncertain about this idea, but the reception to the beginning was overwhelmingly positive and I'm now resolved to continue this as a full-length work.
> 
> Second, down to business. As you can see, Thorin's not the only demon plaguing Bella's steps, but the Company, as well. Poor girl just can't catch a break. The good news is, she's almost through her hysterical phase, which means the real fun can start soon.
> 
> And oh look-- Bard! I wonder what he's doing here. ;)


	3. Relieve Romance to Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella sasses the devil in a coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that this chapter gets a little darker at the end. If anyone spots specific warnings or tags I should add to the fic, let me know.

By the time afternoon rolled around, Bella had decided to take the rest of the day off, per Ori’s forceful insistence. He reasoned that this entire thing was quite a mouthful to swallow, and she needed at least a day before she could think properly again. She refused to leave at least until Fili showed up for his shift; Bag End was very busy during the summer, and she hated the idea of leaving it short-handed when there were so many orders to fill.

Ori was right, though. She wasn’t thinking straight. She only spared Fili a cold look before retreating up to her apartment, leaving Ori to do the explaining. She’d have a few choice words of her own for Fili at some point in the future, but for now, she was too mentally and emotionally exhausted to get herself riled up again.

Not that going home did anything to soften the edge. She tried cozying up in bed with her book and her cat, but every few seconds she found herself casting a glance around the bedroom and eyeing all the reflective surfaces. When she did manage to focus on her book for more than a minute at a time, her mind simply wandered back to Thorin and his demonic posse, and she realized that she was scanned the same sentence over and over.

It was at that point that she realized she was probably better off in public, around people—where maybe she could find something to distract herself.

The first place she headed was the chocolate shop around the corner. Though the two older men who ran the place were eccentric to say the least—Bifur couldn’t speak a word of English and Balin always looked like he knew something that she didn’t—it was the best chocolate she’d ever tasted. And today more than ever, that was exactly what she needed.

Thanking Balin before she set off with her bounty, her next stop was the coffee shop across the street. Bombur was the usual barista there, and though he was quiet, his liquid concoctions were utterly to die for. She ordered a steaming cup of chamomile and settled at a table along the wall—about as far from the windows as she could get. She was in no mood to be bothered by anyone: demon or otherwise.

Not that she usually got what she wanted. She had just taken her first sip of tea when Thorin dropped like a stone into the seat across from her. He looked entirely at odds with his surroundings; where most of the people in this district were young, artistic spirits with questionable ideas about fashion and hygiene, he played perfectly into the part of the posh soulless businessman.

She greeted him with a glare, and when he rose his eyebrow expectantly, all she told him was, “No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet,” he replied, his heavy brow knitting together.

“Well, whyever you’re here, the answer is no. Bugger off.” She buried her nose in her book and seized a piece of chocolate from the paper back next to her.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I won’t say a word.” He sat back in his chair and watched her, and after thirty seconds she’d had more than enough.

“You’re just going to sit there,” she snipped. “And stare.”

“That’s what I was planning to do, yes.” One of his thick eyebrows inched up by a fraction, feigning complete innocence.

Bella gave a frustrated growl and slammed her book shut. “Fine! Fine, if you’re going to act like a child. Then I’ve got a question for you. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? You just popping into my life whenever you feel like it, never giving me a moment’s peace?”

“I gave you peace last night,” he stated, and there was something in his expression that made her think that maybe he hadn’t been as absent as she’d thought.

“So far as I know,” she answered darkly, prompting only an enigmatic smile from Thorin.

“I suppose—I’m still just trying to understand,” she fidgeted, breaking eye contact. “Why _me?_ Is this punishment? What on Earth could I have possibly done to warrant this sort of—“ she paused and swallowed hard. “ _Personal_ attention.”

“This isn’t punishment,” he answered, his voice growing quiet and his smile fading. “If I meant to punish you, you’d _know_ it.”

Bella did her best not to pursue that particular line of thought. “Then why? Why has all hell chosen to break loose on _my_ doorstep?”

“Because you _haven’t_ done anything wrong.” She dared to glance up and nearly flinched when she found that dark, simmering look in his eye. “Because you’re practically a saint.”

“So Bella Baggins is the new Job?” she asked dryly, toying with a chocolate wrapper. “Well, if that’s the case then you let God know that I quit. Hell can find some other saint to torture.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant.”

 _“Well then you’d better start explaining!”_ she exclaimed, slamming her palm against the tabletop. “Because as of right now there is nothing in my life that makes the slightest _lick_ of sense.”

“One day,” he eased, not batting an eyelash at her outburst. “Now is not the time.”

“Now is the perfect time!” She whined, ignoring the questioning looks she was drawing from other patrons in the shop. “I absolutely refuse to live out the rest of my life tormented by my own personal demons without knowing why!”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed dangerously at her as he sat back. “And if I refuse to tell you? What will you do?”

Bella’s mouth opened to speak, and just as quickly snapped shut again. He did make an excellent point—it wasn’t as though she really had much of a choice in all of this, if it was in fact real. The striking realization that she might not have any control over her own life settled like an uncomfortable weight in her belly.

“So that’s how this is,” she murmured gloomily, eyeing her tea.

“I will do everything in my power to make this as comfortable for you as I possibly can,” he said, his voice growing soft as he leaned forward over the table. “But I will not— _cannot_ —yield. Whether you like it or not, Bella, I’m about to become a permanent addition to your life.”

That was enough to make her look up. As far as forced permanent additions went, she supposed it could be worse. He really was devilishly handsome, and she couldn’t deny that there was an irresistible charm in the way he moved and spoke. But first impressions could be deceiving, and for all that she’d been seeing him in her head for months now, he was still a stranger.

Besides—beneath that attractive surface, there just had to be something terribly wrong. Because if he was really a devil, then it simply wasn’t fair to want to fall for him so easily.

“If you’re trying to make me feel better,” she mused as she took a drink of her chamomile, “You’re doing a rubbish job.”

“Comfort is hardly my forte.” His apology came without the slightest hint of sincerity, his palms turning upward on the surface of the table.

“ _No_ ,” she gasped, her voice dripping with sarcasm, before moving on. “Next question—how do you know Bard?”

To her great satisfaction, the question had him squirming in his seat. Or, at least—as close to _squirming_ as an incredibly suave, dignified devil could get. “That’s a long story,” he hedged.

“This thing that you’re doing, where you aren’t giving me answers?” she sniffed, digging through the contents of her chocolate bag. “It isn’t doing you any favors. You’re already in the doghouse, love—if you want to get on my good side this isn’t the way to go about it.”

“Perhaps you’re overestimating how much I care.” He folded his arms across his chest, watching as she popped a chocolate into her mouth.

“Oh, I see,” she said conversationally as she chewed. “So, everything you’ve done up until this point has merely been in the interest of establishing a good working relationship—is that it?”

Thorin studied her for a long moment, his eyes slanting suspiciously. Then at long last he sat back, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re goading me,” he observed. “You’re trying to manipulate me into telling you what you want to know.” From the expression on his face, he looked perfectly charmed by the notion of her using her wiles against him.

And curse him, he’d hit the nail on the head. “Well, it was worth a shot.” She deflated and washed down her chocolate with some tea. As he continued to smile at her, she batted a hand at him from across the table. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“ _Myself_ is not with whom I am pleased,” he replied, the words curling deliciously over his tongue. “I must say, Miss Baggins, you wear manipulation _stunningly_.”

“Quit looking at me like that,” she blustered, breaking eye contact as her cheeks started to burn. “We’re in public, for goodness’ sake.”

“Would you prefer I look at you like that in private?” he retorted smoothly, his smile widening.

“ _Oooooh_ ,” Bella seethed, tempted to kick him under the table. She knew it wouldn’t do any damage, but maybe if she angled it right she could scuff one of his shiny shoes. “You’re _incorrigible_.”

“That’s the idea.” He chuckled and tipped his head back, looking down his razor-sharp nose at her.

Trying to avoid the look he was giving her, she motioned to a waitress and asked for a glass of water—just a little something to buffer the chocolate and the tea. There was a moment when she could have sworn the waitress was sizing the two of them up, then she turned on her heel and walked away.

“What do you suppose that was for?” Bella asked when she was out of earshot.

“She was trying to decide whether the two of us were a couple,” he explained, as conversationally as if he were commenting on the weather. “She wants to give me her phone number. When she comes back she’ll slide it to me on the underside of a napkin. Wait and see.”

Bella gaped at him, and for a moment she couldn’t decide whether she was more shocked at his ability to work all of that out or at the waitress’s audacity. “ _Well_ ,” she huffed, staring down into her cup.

“Shall I kill her?” he asked with a perfectly innocent raise of his brow.

“You— _bloody hell_ , you’re serious, aren’t you?” she squirmed in her seat, leaning forward over the table to hiss at him. “Please tell me you did _not_ just offer to kill someone for me!”

“That—displeases you,” he observed flatly, squinting his eyes as though her face were the blurred page of a book.

“Of course it displeases me!” she whispered hysterically. “I will not have you running around killing people with reckless abandon—it’s not proper.”

“I think you may be confused as to what it is that demons do,” he drawled.

“Hush!” she swatted an insistent hand at him, urging him to lower his voice. “We’re in public, remember? I don’t need what few normal people I know thinking I’m completely insane.”

“A few hours ago _you_ thought you were completely insane,” he argued.

“Yes and I might _still_ think that but I don’t need this to get any more complicated than it already is.”

Thorin sighed, casting a begrudging look around at the coffee shop. “If, by some chance, any of these people did begin circulating rumors about you, I could take care of it.”

“What—by killing them?” she quipped sharply. “No. I’ll have none of that devilry.”

That was when the waitress returned, and just as Thorin had predicted, she subtly slipped him a napkin while she was serving up Bella’s glass of water. The florist shot her a dirty look and didn’t offer a word of thanks, which in her mind, was a very serious insult. The waitress looked utterly unfazed as she swung her hips and walked away.

“Hmph,” he grunted, turning up the corner of the napkin to spy the number. “Should I give her a call?”

“Don’t be silly,” Bella snapped, fishing for the straw in her water.

“I was being serious,” he told her with a wicked smile. “I imagine I could give that girl the best night of her life. And also the last.”

That sent a shudder running down Bella’s spine. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she said, sipping through the straw. “It’s terrifying. And vulgar.”

Thorin sighed, clearly growing tired of her stern moral code. “You know what they say about old habits—and mine are ancient.”

“Yes, well— _to hell_ with your old habits, and by all means _keep_ them there. If you insist on taking over my life, you’re at least going to behave yourself,” she chided.

She was still perfectly aware of the fact that talking down to a devil would do her absolutely no good, and if push came to shove, her lack of power over him would be not only pathetic, but laughable. She tried to ignore that thought, hoping he might oblige at least to humor her. The fact that he seemed to take a perverse sort of delight in her feisty resistance was promising; while they were both perfectly aware that he could probably break her spirit in a matter of minutes, giving her the illusion of power seemed to entertain him.

All in all, she felt a bit like it was a game of cat and mouse, and the cat was toying with her before he moved in for the kill.

“There’s something that I’d like you to know.” He had been silent as she briefly retreated into her thoughts, but when she looked up she found him staring at her. His eyes were fiercely intent, like brightly burning crystal—but more than that, there was a gravity in his tone that caused her insides to squirm.

“I am more than happy to oblige your commands. If you truly wish me to go, then I will go. Tell me to behave, and I am as a hellhound with a muzzle over its maw. I will bend to your will as no King of Hell ever deigned—but only because I know what you have yet to realize. One day, you will yield to me. I need not employ hollow lies or lewd violence with you, because I know what you secretly desire.” A smile plucked at the corner of his lips, and Bella shrunk back in her seat, utterly unnerved as he continued to speak.

“I know that you’ve been waiting all your life for me to come along, and resist as you do—resist as you may for _years_ —one day, you will come to me willingly. You will give yourself over wholly, and on that day, I will at long last reclaim every ounce of power you’ve ever held over me. I’ll draw it from you in sighs and surrendering looks, in those lascivious fantasies when you’ve tried so hard to conceal from everyone the darkness that sits locked away in your heart. One day, Bella Baggins, you’ll belong to me, and every kindness I have ever paid you, you will _reciprocate in full._ ”

His words left her utterly speechless, and if she had felt out of her depth before, she now felt as though she’d been dropped into the Mariana Trench. Something about the way that he spoke struck a chord fearfully right within her, and she knew that she would be revisiting the feeling again when she had the luxury of privacy. For now, however, she was terrified—it all felt like a tide rushing in much too fast, and more than anything, what she needed right now was space to think.

She could feel his eyes boring into her as she stared down at the table between them, her body curling defensively inward on itself. But all at once, the adrenaline of panic struck her and her gaze snapped angrily up to his. “Don’t you ever dare talk to me like that again,” she snarled, leaning forward. “I am not yours or anybody else’s. And you can believe that I’m speaking from personal experience when I say—you’re _utterly delusional.”_

Abandoning her drinks and her chocolate, she stormed out of the coffee shop, fumbling through her purse for her phone. Tears of shock were welling up in her eyes, and she knew that now, more than ever, she just needed to clear her head and straighten this out.

Searching through her contacts, she pulled up Bard’s phone number and gave him a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Exploring the dynamic between Bella and Thorin a little more. I didn't plan on spending the entire chapter on their conversation in the coffee shop, but they wouldn't stop talking. Terrible as it is to say, demon Thorin is marvelously fun to write. That little part where he pointed out that she was trying to manipulate him? He was very much _me gusta_.
> 
> And then it got a little more serious at the end. There's a really fascinating power play that's setting up between these two, and though it may have been a little early for Thorin to say something like that, I wanted to tease at that future relationship a little bit. (Of course, if Bella can't have everything she wishes for, then neither can the Lord of Silver Fountains. I doubt she'll ever be quite as compliant as he'd like.)
> 
> Next chapter: Bard!


	4. Every Saint has a Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella has a long talk with Bard in which she is given some long-overdue answers.

Bard was an art dealer. Tourists passing through the area would stop by his gallery, marvel over the fresh local talent, and be on their way—and to most, that two-dimensional image of a man was enough. The breadth of him was unremarkable at first glance; the true wealth of his character lay in his depth. He had contacts everywhere and knew everyone, regardless of whether they were _worth_ knowing. He was willing to take risks on untested artists, either giving them their first big break or offering up the advice that would get them there. And he was not the sort of man to sit back when others were in desperate need—which was often the case among young artists struggling to make a living. He was always standing quietly in the sidelines ready to lend a hand, and when he did, he made sure no one ever spoke of it. That was part of why Bella liked him so much.

So when she stepped into his humble house and sat down on the couch to steady herself, she knew she could trust that nothing she revealed to him would get passed on to gossiping ears. He was all concern as he seated himself alongside her, studying her face for clues.

“Something’s very wrong,” he stated, hoping she’d pick up from there.

“Yes,” Bella laughed, dabbing at her eyes. There hadn’t been more than one or two tears since she’d left the coffee shop, and they were more from the surprise of the moment than anything else, but she was still embarrassed that Bard had to see it. “Goodness, you must think that someone’s died. This is the second time you’ve seen me on the verge of tears today.”

“I suppose I should consider it a blessing that no one _has_ died,” he said cautiously. Rubbing his hand over his jawline, he took a moment to form his next words with care. “I’m not going to ask you what’s happened, because I don’t want you to feel that you’re obligated to tell me. Your business is your own and I’ll respect that, if you like. But you should know that I’m always willing to listen. If there’s anything that you _want_ to tell me, I’m all yours.”

Bella took a deep breath at that, letting his unassuming kindness wash over her like a ray of warm sunshine. Already, the adrenaline of her encounter in the coffee shop was beginning to fade, and she felt better just sitting in Bard’s presence. “You’re an angel, you know that?” she laughed, giving him a fond look. Then she registered her own words and did a double take, recalling the exchange in Bag End earlier that morning. “That is—you’re not _really_ , are you?”

Bard gave her a puzzled look. “I’m sorry?”

“’S nothing,” she murmured, plucking one of the pillows off of the couch and pulling it into her lap. “Just checking.”

In the patient silence that followed, she evaluated her reasons for coming to Bard and worked out exactly what she wanted to tell him. Thorin’s presence in her life had been a carefully guarded secret from the first time she’d seen him, and even now, when he’d revealed himself to be more than just a specter in mirrors, she had a difficult time explaining her relationship with him. Still, as she looked up and met Bard’s eye, there was a very steady equanimity there that told her she didn’t have to fear that he might judge her. He was, in fact, one of the least judgmental people she’d ever met.

So she told him everything. She started at the beginning, with her first encounter at the coffee shop, and told him everything she could remember right down to that very morning. There were times when she hesitated or struggled to find the right words, knowing that what she was saying must sound crazy, but he said nothing—just watched and listened, never once showing any hint of doubt.

When she’d finished, she took a deep breath, smoothing her fingers over the pillow she’d been hugging. “There’s something I’d like to ask you, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

He looked mildly surprised at that, but made no attempt to protest. “Alright. Go ahead.”

“Am I crazy?” she spoke the question quietly, almost afraid to ask. It seemed a simple question, but there was so much riding on his answer that she needed to know. As he considered it, she watched his face carefully for his reaction.

“No.” If he paused, it was not because he showed the least bit of doubt over his answer. She could see that he was choosing his words very carefully out of consideration for her delicate emotional state. “You’re just shaken. As you have every right to be.”

“Is it true?” she asked without a moment’s hesitation. For all that Bard had feigned ignorance, she wasn’t blind enough to believe that he knew nothing about it.

He steeled himself with a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Thorin is the Lord of Silver Fountains,” she said flatly. It was more of a statement than a question, and his answering nod gave her the confirmation she sought.

“What’s more, he threatened you,” he told her gently. “You have every right to be afraid.”

“That isn’t why I’m afraid.” Her voice dropped and she hugged the pillow a little tighter, avoiding his gaze out of shame.

“No?” There was a note of surprise in his tone.

“No,” she reaffirmed. Her eyes grew unfocused as she thought about her answer, her fingers working absently at the seam of the pillow. When she finally spoke, it was little more than a whisper. “I’m afraid because I liked it.”

Bard pressed a hand to his mouth as he considered her, his fingers tracing thoughtfully over the wisps of hair above his lips. She risked a glance up at his face, afraid of what she might find there, but to her surprise there wasn’t the slightest hint of disapproval. “Hm.”

“You already knew all of this, didn’t you?” Bella asked, studying his features. “And there’s more you’re not telling me.”

“I knew some of it,” he admitted, his hand dropping to the back of the couch. “I knew that Thorin was going to make a play for you here. The reflections were a clever trick—he managed to make quite the impression on you without alarming anyone. And I didn’t know that he had quite so many underlings. Ori I never would have guessed. Fili and Kili—I suppose there’s an arguable case for it.”

Bella almost smiled at his hint of humor. “So then where do you fit in?”

Bard stared at her for a moment before he stood up from the couch and paced slowly toward the fireplace. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, sorting back through memories and trying to decide what to say, so Bella was patient. It was the least she could do after the consideration he had showed her.

“The first time that I saw an angel, I was twenty-five years old,” he said quietly, leaning against the mantle. “The year was 1191—I had journeyed from Wales to follow Richard the Lionheart to take back the Holy Land from Saladin. I was known as Girion in those days.”

Bard turned to look at her, his face dead serious, and Bella could have sworn her heart stopped in her chest. “But that was eight-hundred years—“

He held up a hand to stop her. “I know… I’ll get to that.” He sighed, mustering his strength before he continued. This clearly wasn’t the sort of conversation he had on a daily basis.

“We cut a swath of destruction wherever our army marched—every village, every farm, every hovel that crossed our path, we burned to the ground. It was ugly work, but we were told that it was in the name of Iluvatar, so we obeyed without question. In one of the villages we came across a house full of sick children; a terrible illness had swept through the area, and the children were weak and utterly helpless—in desperate need of food and medicine. I argued with my superior officer in defense of the children, but he turned a cold shoulder on them. Like everything else we’d encountered, he ordered it be burned to the ground.”

Bard paused, licking his lips as ancient memory flickered behind his eyes. Bella watched in rapt attention, still trying to comprehend what he was telling her. “That was the night that I chose to defect. I abandoned King Richard’s army and saved the children, hiding them from the men who would see them killed. When danger had passed, I brought them food and did what I could to nurse them back to health. I could not save them all—I was not a man of medicine. But I left them in good hands, and in better condition than when we’d first met.

“Disillusioned to the Pope’s cause, I made for home. On my voyage, I was visited in the night by an angel called Limnir. Though he didn’t introduce himself as a divine being, it was obvious to me; if you’d ever met a high angel, I have a feeling you’d know what I mean. He told me that I had made the right choice, that my exemplary moral substance had earned me the good graces of higher powers. He encouraged me to continue acting on my charitable instincts—to help people as I’d been born to do. There was certainly no shortage of need. So by the time I finally reached England, I had come to recognize my new calling. I settled there, at the heart of the disease, where I was needed the very most. I worked hard and became a champion of the common folk. I used my skill with a bow to redistribute wealth and give to the needy.”

“I’m sorry,” Bella interrupted, holding up a hand. “I just—you’re saying that you robbed from the rich and gave to the poor?”

“That was the general idea, yes.” He blinked at her, but she could have sworn a smile was tugging at his lips.

“Like _Robin Hood?”_ she pressed.

“The legendary bowman of extraordinary skill who fought against oppression? I wonder wherever they came up with the idea.” His eyes twinkled just a little as he spoke and Bella clapped a hand over her mouth, floored by his insinuation.

“I went on like that for many years,” he continued. “The Crusades dragged on, and so did the taxes that plagued the people. Eventually, during a skirmish in the forest, I became mortally wounded—I took an arrow to the chest that managed to do considerable damage. Even with the tending of my fellows, I should not have survived the night.”

Bard paused again, his brow creasing as he recalled the fateful evening. “I was once again visited by an angel. But this time, it was the Archangel Elrond. He told me that he had watched my work with great interest over the years, and he thought that I could be an agent of great good if given the chance.”

Bella inclined her head as he fell silent again, urging him to continue.

“You asked me if I was an angel,” he said, looking at her and drumming his fingers absently against the mantle. “And I’m not. Not in the strict sense of the word, anyway. I’m more of a… shall we say, _honorary_ angel.”

“ _Honorary angel_ ,” Bella repeated flatly, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Elrond granted me immortal life and turned me loose to do my good work in the world. I’ve watched the tides of the Earth change—empires rise and fall, revolutions shift the course of history.”

“But after a thousand years—aren’t you tired of it?”

Bard huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d think so. And I’ll admit, the Middle Ages—as they’ve now taken to calling them—were difficult. Progress was slow, and change only seemed to come with an uphill climb through the mud. But always there was work to do—always there were people in desperate need, and that singular knowledge made the time pass more quickly. Living got easier eventually; it was a relief when I no longer had to scrape by on my survival skills in the forest. Nowadays, I’d even say that it’s comfortable. The work’s not easier, though. That’s never easier.”

“Eight hundred years walking the Earth,” Bella marveled, staring at him. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, but it certainly was a novel idea. “And to think I never knew. Me and hundreds of other people just walking by every day, never knowing there was an angel among us.”

“I don’t generally use that word,” Bard admitted with a grimace. “It tends to give people unrealistic expectations—when really, I’m still just a man. A very _old_ man.”

“But watching all your friends pass by you—have children, grow old, die—it must be hard.” She hadn’t given much thought to immortality herself, but she was familiar with the age-old arguments against it.

“Which is why I like to move around,” he told her. “Once my work’s done, I pack up and move on, and keep the fond memories of the people I’ve known. I’m happy for them, knowing that they have lives of their own that I’ve managed to make a little better. If I really got tired of it, I’m sure Elrond would let me leave this world and go somewhere comfortable and carefree. At risk of sounding presumptuous, I’d say I’ve earned it. But—I can’t seem to resign myself to that. There’s still too much to be done here. Too many people to know.” He paused and smiled at Bella. “People like you, who make me glad I’ve stuck around.”

Her cheeks heated up with the praise and she looked bashfully down at her hands. “So, what—no angelic superpowers?” she teased.

“Nothing substantial. Certainly not like the display that Thorin has put on for you these past few months. But… I have knowledge and I have experience. I can hold him and his demons at bay.” He cleared his throat and added, “I think.”

“I’m not convinced that they’re out to hurt me,” she said, picking at the pillow in her lap.

“Neither am I, really,” he agreed, moving back to sit with her on the couch. “Thorin is too fixated on you to hurt you. If it were some petty infatuation, maybe—but I suspect that this runs deeper than that.”

Bella felt herself growing tense just thinking about Thorin, and Bard reacted immediately. He closed the distance between them, drawing her into the comforting embrace of one arm. “Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine. We’ll sort this out.”

All at once her concerns about Thorin and the future flew out of her head as she was distracted by the musky scent of his body. He was warm in such a way as she’d never imagined in the short years that she’d known him. She thought about how she’d harbored a girlish crush on him in that time—how unknowingly she’d set her sights on so ancient and venerable a man. Now it almost felt foolish, perhaps even disrespectful, as if knowing about his past placed them on different levels than they ever had been before. Still, it was difficult to convince herself of that as she melted into his strong embrace; more than anything, he just felt like the same wonderful Bard.

“I’m so glad that you’re here,” she murmured quietly. She felt his lips press against the hair on top of her head and she closed her eyes as glowing warmth spread through her body.

“I’m glad that you came to me,” he answered. “You’re going to be facing difficult times from now on. I want to be there for you—help you, if I can.”

“I have complete faith in you,” she told him with a warm smile.

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, milady.” With that sparkle of humor in his eyes he borrowed her hand and drew it up to his lips, kissing her fingers chastely. The unexpectedness of it left her blushing fiercely.

“Smooth. Something you picked up back in the age of chivalry?” she asked, grinning at him.

“Well—it still works, doesn’t it?” He nudged her with his knee.

Bella made a pleased noise in the back of her throat, her fingers curling around his as she sank into her thoughts. There was still a whole plethora of questions swirling around in her brain and she was having a hard time making sense of it all.

“Dwalin called you a mercenary this morning,” she recalled, finally settling on a new line of questioning. “What did he mean by that?”

“Ah.” Bard sat back, his brows furrowing together. “Elrond is one of the more tolerant angels, to be honest. Most of them don’t like to recognize anyone with a mortal heritage as divine, and demons are no better. They think I have no place in this war—that I’m meddling in business that is over my head.”

“Isn’t it?”

Bard smiled humorlessly at her. “I suppose it probably is. Still—if water is flooding your boat and you know it’s going to sink, does that stop you from bailing?”

For all that it was a simple comparison, it put a great deal into perspective for Bella. She smiled and tucked herself under his arm again as she considered her predicament. Bard was persistent; after eight-hundred years, he wasn’t disillusioned and he hadn’t given up. If he had that kind of perseverance, why couldn’t she?

“You know, at risk of coming across as forward, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to spend the night here. I could make sure that Thorin doesn’t bother you.” He looked down at her where she was tucked under his arm.

“It’s a tempting offer,” she admitted. “But that’s alright. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m going to have to learn to deal with this on my own eventually—might as well start by sleeping in my own apartment.”

“Mm,” Bard hummed, conceding the point. “Well, if you need me or you happen to change your mind, I always answer my phone. I’ve gotten worse late-night calls, believe it or not.”

Bella laughed, wincing at the unpleasant images her imagination conjured up. “I’ll bet you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bites nails* So I'm pretty sure that the level of crackiness in this fic was multiplied about ten times by this chapter alone. Um. I hope it's not too weird. I know a lot of people were really excited to learn more about Bard. The Robin Hood thing might've been a bit much but I couldn't resist. (And I'm fairly sure that there's someone out there who knows way more about history than me and they're probably hitting their face on a desk right about now. But hey! It's fanfiction.)
> 
> Feel free to throw some rotten tomatoes my way. Or, y'know, if you happen to _like_ the direction I'm going, toss me some of your own ideas. I continue to be amazed by all the fantastic thoughts and insights people are contributing to this AU. It's given me a lot of valuable inspiration.
> 
> Also-- should I be adding an official tag for Bilbo Baggins/Bard of Laketown?


	5. Breaching Borders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Thorin have a talk when she gets home.

The sun had set and it was beginning to grow dark when Bella realized she should probably leave. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon with Bard; conversation with him was so easy and comfortable, she hadn’t even noticed the passage of time. Briefly she considered asking him out to dinner, or perhaps preparing something for him out of his own kitchen in exchange for his kindness. But with considerable reluctance she reminded herself that she had already commandeered the better part of his day. It was time for her to go.

She pulled herself reluctantly from where she was sprawled all too comfortably against Bard’s frame, missing his body heat the moment she stood up in the open air. He gave her a considering look as she stretched, loosening the kinks in her muscles—she tried not to jump to conclusions, even though had it been anyone else she would have sworn they were _checking her out_. The thought of it elicited a flattered sort of giddiness, and it took all of her self-control to hold back the girlish smile trying to tug at her lips.

“You’re sure you don’t want to spend the night?” he offered again. “I’d be happy to give you the bed. I’ve put up enough people over the years that I’ve learned to make sure I always have a very comfortable couch on hand.”

“Ah, so _that’s_ why I couldn’t seem to move,” Bella joked.

“Actually, that was just a side-effect of my irresistible charm,” he replied with a smooth wink. She couldn’t decide what amused her more—his terrible line or the fact that he seemed to have mastered the art of winking.

“I meant it when I said I should get used to sleeping in my own apartment,” she told him, more than a little regretful. “As much as I—that is, while I’m sure you’d be a lovely host, it isn’t as though we can just move in together and expect it to solve everything. I need to work this out for myself. But I hope that you’ll forgive me if I hold you to your promise to answer the phone if I call.”

“I won’t sleep a wink waiting for it to ring,” he assured her, dragging himself off of the couch. She meandered toward the door and he followed, leaning against the doorframe as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Thank you again, Bard,” she said, turning back to look at him. “I—can’t tell you how much it means to me to have someone I can rely on in the middle of all this. Today has been like finally finding shelter in a terrible storm.”

“I’d do anything in my power to help you, Bella,” he stated. “And I mean that.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his angular face painted in the sharp relief of twilight shadows and warm light spilling through the doorway. It highlighted his prominent cheekbones and jawline but left his eyes cast in deep shadow as he stared, concealing his thoughts and feelings from her. Still, there was a sincerity in his voice that endorsed his truthfulness and also convinced her that he might feel the same spark that she did. It emboldened her as she studied the enigmatic sparkle of his eyes in shadow; without giving herself the chance to think twice, she leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek. He shifted at that, as if in surprise, but she didn’t wait to find out. She spun around and hurried onto the sidewalk, eager to escape the gaze that burned into her back.

Her mind was still warm and giddy with thoughts of Bard when she stepped into the apartment above Bag End. She was jarred back to reality when she glanced in the direction of the kitchen and spotted the bag of abandoned chocolate she’d left at the coffee shop, sitting next to a little black box with frightening implications. She stopped and stared at the display, at a complete loss for how to react.

“An apology,” Thorin said behind her. It was less of a start than he’d given her before, but she was still going to have to get used to him popping into her apartment uninvited. “You might have already guessed that people skills are not really a forte of mine,” he continued. “I did not mean to startle you this afternoon, nor do I wish to give you reason to fear me. I am simply—unaccustomed to dealing with people on these terms.”

“Clearly,” Bella agreed dryly, turning to face him. She couldn’t help the guarded body language that seemed to ward him away—she still knew too little to trust him. “Bringing the chocolate was… thoughtful,” she admitted. “But romantic a gesture as it might be, it’s somewhat diminished by the fact that you’ve given yourself free access to my home whenever you’d like.”

“Demons have free access to anyone’s home whenever they’d like,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but people don’t,” she countered, her chin raising stubbornly.

Thorin sighed and moved away, disappointing her by refusing to offer a compromise. With most of the lights in her apartment still turned off, he looked more like a living shadow than a mere man, blending far too easily with the dark spaces between shafts of illumination that filtered in through the windows.

“You were with Bard for a long time today,” he observed, his face unreadable in the gloom. “The two of you suddenly seem to be very comfortable.”

“ _Very_ ,” she confirmed, holding back a satisfied smile in the face of his obvious displeasure. “I like Bard—I always have. He’s a good man. And very charming.”

Thorin stepped into the light and cast her a sidelong glance at that, his expression sullen. “ _Charming_.”

“Mhmm.” She moved away and slipped off her shoes, heading into the kitchen to scrounge up something for dinner. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from him, I think. Are you hungry?”

“Far more have succumbed to the lure of my charm than ever have to that sewer rat’s petty pawing,” Thorin argued bitterly, following her into the kitchen. He backed her up into a corner, willing her to face him.

“Oh, now that _is_ pathetic,” she chided, giving him a disapproving look. “How childish could you possibly be? While what you say may be true, all those unfortunate souls that you speak of were almost certainly led astray by deception and petty tricks and—“ she hesitated, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through her at standing so close. She could feel the warmth of his body—frighteningly human, for all that she’d convinced herself he would be ice cold. “And sexual frustration!” she blurted, pushing him out of her way.

“Which is something you’d know all about,” he reasoned, the smile audible in his voice. She kept her back to him as her cheeks burned, busying herself with some rice at the sink.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she quipped, shooting him a venomous look over her shoulder. “I was speaking objectively—that _wasn’t_ an invitation. I do just fine by myself, thank you very much.”

“I know you do,” he said, relentless as he stepped a little closer. “You’ve showed me before.”

Bella very nearly dropped the pot of rice and sent it spilling across the floor. “I didn’t think you were real! I was—that was just—… oh, _you’re completely impossible._ ”

She pushed past him to put the pot on the stove, pointedly avoiding his eyes. Still he pursued, following her through the kitchen and watching her with fascinated amusement. “You were lonely,” he stated, angling his face downward toward her in a condescending sort of expectation.

“I might’ve been.” She refused to admit that she’d been a lot lonelier before he started showing up in mirrors.

“And are you still?”

She didn’t answer, instead moving to her spice cabinet to fish out a packet of broth mix. She searched fruitlessly for a few moments, pushing aside bottles and jars in irritation, before he held up just the packet she was searching for. She didn’t even bother to ask how he’d slipped it out from under her nose—she simply cursed him and lunged to retrieve it from his grasp. He held it out of her reach, and being considerably taller than her, accomplished his goal quite effectively. She briefly struggled to muscle it away from him, batting helplessly at his coolly composed, utterly steadfast form.

“No!” she finally yielded, standing back and stamping her foot. “There, I said it! Once upon a time, I considered you excellent company—back when you didn’t say a word and I had no idea that you were actually the biggest arse in the history of the universe.”

Thorin smiled, apparently satisfied. He surrendered the broth and she seized it from him violently, stirring it into the cold mixture of water and rice.

“I _liked_ you,” she admitted, her tone softening and her movements slowing by a fraction. “You seemed gentle when it was just the two of us in my head. You were patient and polite and you always looked pleased to see me, even if you never said so. You listened to me talk about things I never would have told anyone else, stood patiently by as I made a fool of myself day in and day out, and you _never judged me_. I liked that side of you. Now that you’re… _real_ , I can’t help feeling you’re always trying to put on a show.”

When Bella looked up at him, the self-satisfied smirk was gone from his face, replaced by a deep stitch in his brow. “You want to know why I like Bard?” she pursued. “Because _he’s_ the sort of man I wanted to think that _you_ were.”

Thorin was quiet after that, a tense silence stretching between them as Bella continued to stir the pot—then realized that the stove wasn’t on yet. She tried to maintain her dignity as she flicked the knob and continued stirring, ignoring the fact that he’d flustered her enough to disrupt her natural instinct for cooking.

“I could be like that, you know,” he eventually said, his crystalline gaze fixed intently on her. “I _want_ to be like that. I want to be the one that you reach for when you’re distressed—not him.”

“Then maybe you should start acting like it,” she snapped coldly.

Thorin reached out and before she could react his hand closed over hers on the spoon. She paused from stirring, heavily preoccupied with the electric sensation that radiated from the touch.

“Bella,” he said softly, rubbing his thick thumb gently over her small fingers. “I _am_ sorry. I will try to behave, as you have asked. All I ask in return is that you have patience with me.”

“Why should I?” There was still an edge to her tone, for all that she felt her resolve crumbling. “You’re a demon.”

“Because I want to be something else, for the first time in centuries.” His free hand brushed the hair back from her face and over her shoulder, and he leaned down to kiss the sensitive skin of her cheek just in front of her ear. It was a slow, wretchedly sensual touch that completely dissolved her tense anger. “I want to be everything that you desire, and there is nothing else that will satisfy me.”

He shifted, his hot breath trailing a line down her skin to her neck, where he planted a second slow kiss. The moment of contact seemed to stretch on for years, the aching gap between them so laden with tension that she felt certain it was bound to snap at any moment. She felt herself gravitating subconsciously toward him, her head rolling longingly aside as her skin itched for more kisses.

“Stop,” she begged, her free hand clutching the edge of the worktop. Not because she actually wanted him to—her body had betrayed her, yielding like putty in his hands. It was easy to hate him when he was ruthless and cheeky and making her life completely miserable. This side of him—all tender kisses and sweet, adoring words—hit her in just the right places, and she suddenly felt terrified that he’d managed to find her weakness at last.

Thorin hesitated over her shoulder, as if he was wrestling with temptation himself. But when she felt his presence move away from her she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she managed quietly. As the water in the rice began to simmer, she lowered the heat and covered the pot. “Now, you never answered my question. Would you like some dinner?”

“No,” he answered absently, struggling to compose himself from where he leaned against the counter. “Rice isn’t exactly suited to my palate.”

With that she cast a suspicious glance at him. “You’re not about to tell me that you only feast on the blood of virgins, are you?”

Thorin chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “If I did, would you be relieved? After all, that would mean that you didn’t qualify.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” she muttered crossly, moving away from the stove to retrieve some leftover chicken from the fridge. “Just tell me that you don’t have some sort of virgin radar, where you can tell whether someone’s sexually active just by looking at them.”

“Actually,” he began, and she stopped to give him a wide-eyed look. “It’s not that specific, but I do have a very acute sense for the… shall we say, turpitude of a person. I can look at someone and have a good idea of what their guiltiest sins are, along with how heavily those sins influence them. Call it a tool of the trade, if you will. It makes mortals so much easier to exploit.”

Bella’s eyebrows shot up as she forked some of the chicken into the rice broth. She knew she shouldn’t ask, but the temptation was too much to bear. “And when you look at me…?”

Thorin moved too close and she was hyper-aware of his presence beside her all over again. “Pride, most certainly,” he told her in a low, throaty voice, his gaze straying openly over her figure. “Though not necessarily vanity. Gluttony and lust, for all that you try to conceal it from the world—play the part of the good little girl who runs the flower shop.” He smiled, obviously amused by the image.

“You’re also more wrathful than you let on, for all that you’d never lay a finger on another living creature. You have a hot temper and I suspect had you been raised under less pleasant circumstances you might not have such a tight reign over yourself. As for envy and sloth, I wouldn’t say they have more influence over you than anyone else.”

Bella licked her lips, willing herself not to grow too self-conscious under the weight of his analysis. She _had_ asked, after all. “What about the last one?” she ventured, glancing cautiously up at him. “Avarice, right?”

Thorin smiled, but the expression seemed to carry with it a bitter edge. “You’re the least material woman I’ve ever seen. It’s infuriating.”

She allowed herself a small amount of triumph to make up for the crushing self-consciousness that came with the other sins. “And why should it bother you if I’m less inclined to one sin than other? I should think that they all count in your favor.”

“They do,” he confirmed. “And accordingly, I am very adept at preying upon them all. But Avarice is my domain.”

Bella looked up at him in surprise, taking a moment to wrap her head around it. “Avarice? The entire sin?”

“The Lord of Silver Fountains,” he recalled meaningfully. “There are seven princes of Hell, each with a titular sin. Avarice is mine.”

 “So you’re saying that if I’d been a material girl, I’d have been a goner long ago,” she teased. For all that she tried to show some humor, she was still just a little uncomfortable with how easily Thorin had read her darkest faults.

“Most likely,” he confirmed without so much as the hint of a smile. “Speaking of which—you never opened my gift.”

She looked over her shoulder at the small box that sat next to the chocolates, once again shying away from the thought of opening it. Though she couldn’t be certain of anything with Thorin, it did look terribly like a jewelry box. “I, um.”

Ignoring her nervousness, he moved to retrieve the box and returned, holding it out to her enticingly. She hesitated, feeling awkward accepting gifts over a pot of rice and some leftover chicken, but took it anyway for lack of alternative options. He waited patiently as she cracked it open and peeked at what lay inside.

“ _Oh_.” It was admittedly a very noncommittal reaction, and probably the furthest thing from what he’d hoped for, but it was the best she could muster in the wake of her surprise. It was jewelry, as she’d expected—but the gold necklace inlaid with pearl flowers and glittering (were those _diamonds??_ ) leaves wasn’t the gaudy ornamentation she would have expected from Thorin. It was charmingly simple, and for its thoughtful creativity she had to admit that it was a very lovely gift.

“Almost as good as the real thing,” she remarked, feeling her lips pulling into a smile. “It’s… it’s very beautiful, Thorin.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, and from the intensity with which he was studying her reaction, she could have sworn he was anxious.

“Yes, I do.” She rubbed her lips together and passed a tentative finger over the sleek gold chain. “That is, I’m much more partial to actual flowers, but as far as jewelry goes…”

“It’s too small,” he surmised flatly.

“No!” Her fingers instinctively darted to his chest, willing him not to pursue that line of thought any further. “No, if anything it’s… well, I’m just not accustomed to wearing jewelry. I could hardly get away with wearing something so lovely in the shop. Perhaps when I go to my clients’ weddings.”

“Please wear it,” he insisted, his long fingertips brushing against the skin of her arm.

“I…” she hesitated, glancing up to meet his eye. He looked more sincere than she had seen him in a long while, and her reluctance toward the pretty bauble came tumbling down. “Alright.”

The fact that she didn’t want to say no to him when he looked at her so imploringly was troubling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ridiculously tired and posting this really late, but it was so close to being done that I just had to get it published before I headed off to bed. If anything sounds choppy, it's because I did most of my proofreading at a time that my mind was ill-suited to proofreading. Same with some of the written segments.
> 
> Um. Let's see. A bit more development of Thorin and Bella's relationship, along with a hint of Thorin being a very naughty voyeur. Bard and Thorin both have their charms, just in very different ways. Thorin's advantage is that he's spent the better part of his existence learning to exploit peoples' weaknesses-- and the more he deals with Bella, the better he's going to get at pushing her buttons in all the right ways. (Of course, the same could be said for Bella.) I also wanted to indicate a bit of the flightiness in Bloodverse!Thorin's character. He's very hot and cold owing to the fact that he wants to love her in a way that contradicts his demonic instincts, and that's something we're going to see a lot of in the future. Especially his struggle to reign himself in. For all that his attachment to Bella is emotional, it is also very carnal (because demon), and he has a hard time staving that off.
> 
> There's a picture of the necklace on Tumblr. And the next hurdle Bella's going to have to deal with is going to bed that night. I debated including it in this chapter, but I would have had to put off writing/posting it until tomorrow, so I think I'll just throw it into the beginning of the next chapter instead. (Or maybe it will be the entire next chapter. Who knows.) Cheers!


	6. Incursion of the Serpents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella negotiates a night's peace with Thorin. The next morning, she endures a conversation with Fili and Kili.

“You’re going to have to leave now,” Bella told Thorin when dinner had been cleaned up. She folded her arms across her chest resolutely, challenging him to deny her.

“Why?” he asked innocently.

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at him, pushing him out of her way as she started toward her bedroom. “Because I want to go to bed, and I can’t sleep with a strange man in my apartment.”

“I’m hardly a stranger,” he said pointedly.

“And you’re hardly a friend,” she shot back. “What exactly do you expect me to do? Put you up on my couch? Let you sleep with me?” Bella made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat, pushing open the bedroom door to scrounge up her pajamas. Not like she was about to take off any clothes with Thorin in tail. “Your sense of entitlement is truly baffling.”

“Would it really be so bad?” he questioned, his sly smile audible in the tone of his voice. “Not long ago, you seemed almost eager for such companionship.”

Bella turned on her heel and jabbed him in the chest with a sharp finger. “You! Were. In. My. Head.” With each word she successively jabbed him harder until finally she slapped his rock-hard chest and turned away from him again. “How many times do I have to say that until you understand that fantasizing about an imaginary stranger and suddenly meeting him in real life are completely different things?”

“Why must they be?” he mused gently, laying a hand on her arm. She stiffened, hyper-aware of his body so near to her back. “Why can’t I still be your fantasy?” The fingers on her arm caressed the bare skin, a slight touch that set every nerve alight.

“Because I refuse to give you the satisfaction,” she grumbled bitterly, tugging her arm away from his grasp with entirely more force than was necessary. “The man in my fantasy would never dream of treating me as a possession. Unlike you. Above all others, _you’re_ the one I have to show I won’t be trifled with.”

“A possession?” Thorin stepped back, confusion and betrayal bleeding into his voice.

Bella turned to look at him, perching her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare deny it. You’ve spent—god knows how long—lording over everyone in this world in the next, having your way with whatever new toy strikes your fancy. Well, not me, _Lord of Silver Fountains_. I won’t be your toy. You seem to think that you could fulfill my wildest dreams, and perhaps that’s true. But not before you prove you can handle it.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve speaking to me like that,” he warned in a grave tone, looking wounded.

“I imagine I do,” she agreed, not backing down. “But the way I see it, you must want me very badly—for some reason or another, which I won’t pretend to guess. And that gives me leverage unless you decide I’m not worth it. So you’ve got a choice to make, Devil: either you force me to obey you with the knowledge that my heart will never yield, or you start _listening_ to me and earn my trust.”

Thorin stared at her for a long moment, his chin inching proudly upward. His silence told her that she’d struck a nerve—and while she couldn’t be sure, she had a feeling that victory was just around the corner.

“Very well,” he conceded, his intense eyes never faltering as he stared at her. She bore it obstinately, refusing to let him affect her. “Your wish is my command. But I wonder if, in your benevolence, you might grant me a favor in return.”

Bella narrowed her eyes suspiciously, already anticipating some kind of trick. She studied his face briefly but he betrayed no hint as to his intentions. “What is it?”

“Kiss me goodnight,” he answered quietly, his face unreadable. “Please.”

That was entirely unexpected. She was taken aback by the request, startled by her own curiosity regarding the taste of his lips. She felt her resolve beginning to crumble, but she still wasn’t convinced. “Is this a trick?”

“No.”

She had no reason to believe he was telling the truth. Demons, after all, were known for deceptions of this particular nature. But sympathy stirred in her heart; she wasn’t characteristically a harsh woman, and she was already beginning to feel guilt over the ruthless way she’d spoken to him. On top of that was the giddy, girlish thrill of kissing a man whose bones she’d wanted to jump from the moment they’d first laid eyes on each other.

“… Alright,” she agreed, swallowing thickly. A heady anticipation filled her from head to toe, as if her body had been stuffed with tingling cotton. It was just a kiss, right?

Thorin stepped closer, encroaching on the intimate distance that was characteristically reserved for lovers. She tried not to dwell on his exquisite, spicy scent, or the expensive sheen to the crisp fabric of his dark shirt, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away and finally meet his gaze. Only when his fingertips ghosted beneath her chin to tilt her head back did they make eye contact; her pulse quickened with a sudden rush of heat, and her field of vision narrowed more and more until she was aware of nothing except those keen eyes that seemed to slice right through her defenses. She almost expected him to say something—no, she _willed_ him to say something, because if his wicked mouth opened and those biting words fell like silver from his tongue, she could remember how to hate him and dam up the flood of unfamiliar feelings that threatened to break loose. But he said nothing. The silence hung golden and precious between them, giving rise to the unwelcome fascination that urged her to give into temptation.

The fingertips beneath her chin slid easily along her jawline, framing her face with all the care of a collector framing some great work of art. She felt his index and middle fingers run in an exploratory arc along her cheekbone with the same studious attention of a blind man—then the tip of his thumb dipped into the plush petal of her bottom lip, inching experimentally inward. She couldn’t resist the temptation; her teeth pinched the skin and her tongue flicked across the captive fingertip in the briefest taste. She could have sworn she heard the slightest falter in his breath at that—she barely managed to hold back her smile as she indulged the thought that she might still surprise him with her bite.

It seemed to be just enough to push him over the edge. He reclaimed his fingertip and the hand slid to tangle in her thick curls, freeing her lips for more significant pursuits. The difference in their height was considerable, and Thorin was forced to lean down in order to kiss her; but all the same, she found she didn’t really mind. His impressive stature meant that when he kissed her, his entire body constricted around hers like some great, biblical serpent, and her body was left to arc upward into his, curving easily against his form like two pieces of a puzzle cut to slot snugly together. She let herself melt into his warmth, into the slow, worshipful caress of his lips against hers, taking note of how his grip tightened in her hair and his hand pressed into her back—it all came together so nicely. In a daring move that she herself barely registered, one of her legs slid forward, brushing enticingly against his inner thigh; it elicited a hungry noise deep in his throat and he kissed her harder, the scrape of his teeth on her tender skin sending a shiver down her spine.

When at last he released her, she found herself short of breath and more than a little lightheaded. She clung momentarily to the support of his arms, still trying to wrap her head around what she’d just experienced.

“Is that how they kiss goodnight in hell?” she asked conversationally, trying to make light of the situation.

“No,” he answered immediately. “That is how _I_ kiss _you_ goodnight.” He remained carefully stoic in the face of her attempted humor.

“Oh,” she breathed, at a loss for anything else to say. After she’d recovered she stepped back, very nearly tripping over her own bed.

“Well, um,” she faltered, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Goodnight, then.”

Thorin looked at her for a long moment, a deep, thoughtful crease forming a wrinkle in his brow. “Goodnight, Bella.”

As soon as she blinked, he had disappeared. He left her flustered—and with a great deal to think about.

* * *

 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Fili asked, far too casual as she handed him her morning tea and fished out her keys to open up the shop.

“You’d better not be talking about what I think you’re talking about,” she warned, nudging the door open and taking back her tea.

“You and Thorin, of course,” Kili supplied. “We know you’re head over heels—no point denying it.”

“Don’t set the wedding date too far out—I don’t think Kili can stand to wait that long,” Fili continued with a maddeningly straight face. “Soon he’s going to start writing fanfiction. Last night I caught him reading _Fifty Shades of Grey_.”

“Stylistic reference,” Kili sniffed.

“That is creepy on so, _so_ many levels,” Bella muttered, switching on the lights in the back and waking up the computer. “Shouldn’t you be preoccupied with sex lives of your own? You _are_ demons, after all. And by the way—can we talk about the fact that _you’re demons?”_

“Incubi, to be specific,” Kili provided with a concise nod.

“Pride of the family, we are,” Fili assured her.

“ _Incubi_ ,” Bella repeated, fumbling with the lock on the back door. “Aren’t incubi the ones that—“

“Seduce women and suck out their souls?” Kili asked with a pleased grin. “Absolutely.”

“And men, too,” Fili added diplomatically. “Let’s be fair.”

“Well, and actually, everything in between,” Kili finished. “We pride ourselves on being equal opportunity soul suckers.”

Bella pushed a hand through her hair, completely flabbergasted as to how she was going to survive an entire shift like this. “I _really_ wish I thought you were still human.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kili chimed lightheartedly. He followed her behind the desk and slung a companionable arm around her shoulders. “Now that you know we’re demons, we can be completely honest with you. It was such a burden trying to hide our true selves all the time.”

“You know what they say about the importance of being true to oneself,” Fili added sagely.

“I doubt—“ she jerked herself forcibly out of Kili’s embrace—“they were referring to _demons_. Nobody cares about the identity crises of incubi.”

“Now that’s just hurtful,” Fili pouted.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry,” Bella snipped sarcastically, opening up her scheduling book.

“Testy this morning, isn’t she?” Kili observed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Mm, must be lovesickness,” Fili agreed.

Bella breathed a sigh of exasperation, laying one hand over the pages of her book. “Absolutely, it _must_ be lovesickness. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the fact that two demons are pestering her about a _non-existent_ love affair with their uncle.”

“Non-existent?” Kili laughed. “Oh, c’mon. You don’t actually expect us to fall for that, do you?”

“I do, actually,” she huffed, turning to look him in the eye. “Because—believe it or not, I don’t—“

She abruptly halted mid-rant when a knock sounded at the front door. When Bella turned, it was just in time to see Bard step inside, casting an evaluating look around the shop. He was wearing one of his many trademark trench coats—she didn’t know where, but she was convinced that somewhere in his house was a closet full of long coats. This one was a light beige, the fabric just thick enough to ward off the mild chill of a summer morning.

“Bard!” Bella called with a broad smile. Her relief at his interruption was palpable. “How lovely of you to drop by! Is there something I can do for you?” She pointedly ignored the boys’ groans of derision.

“Actually, I’m here to buy some flowers,” Bard answered, stepping farther into the shop and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. His face was strangely unreadable, as though there were something to his words that she wasn’t picking up on.

“Oh?” she almost faltered. “For a girl?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice deliberately casual. If he was embarrassed to say it, there was no sign on his face. “I was hoping that you could help me.”

Bella bit the inside of her lip, trying to suppress the humiliation she felt as she recalled all too clearly how she had kissed him in the doorway the night before. Hopefully, he’d taken it as a friendly gesture and nothing more. “Alright—I’ll do what I can. Tell me about her.”

“Mm?” Bard raised an eyebrow as he continued meandering in the direction of the counter. He stopped every few paces, distracted by a bit of greenery here and a trinket there. “Oh, she’s lovely. A bit eccentric at first glance—finicky over things getting done the right way. And stubborn, too, though I daresay it’s done her far more good than harm. Intelligent, very compassionate. Never makes a show of either. Smile bright enough to light up the whole sky. She’s been going through some tough times lately, but I have no doubt she’ll pull through.”

“You sound like you really like her.” She licked her lips, fidgeting with a scrap of ribbon on the counter.

“I do,” he assured her. “Very much. There’s just one problem—I can’t for the life of me think of any way to buy flowers for the girl who owns the flower shop without making a complete fool of myself.”

Bella’s gaze snapped up to him at that, and though she knew she was wearing her surprise openly on her face she was helpless to contain it. “You mean— you…”

“It’s a real conundrum,” he continued seriously, closing the distance to the counter and facing her. “I know you don’t care for jewelry, and I’m sure you’ve got the chocolate issue well in hand.” She snorted and covered her face with her hands, trying to stave off her flattered embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, enough with the sweet talk,” Fili said sourly, giving Bard a hard glare.

Bard reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple in one fluid motion, tossing it across the counter to Bella. “I’m not going to buy you flowers, but a friend thought you might like this.”

She caught the apple and traced her fingers over the ripe fruit fondly. “A friend?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him playfully. “Another girl I ought to be jealous of?”

“Oh no,” he placated with one hand. “Nothing like that. You don’t need to worry about her. As a matter of fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. She just got into town—I’ll ask her to drop by later and introduce herself.”

“Mm,” Bella hummed noncommittally. Though she was happy to say self-consciousness wasn’t a regular habit, she was admittedly hesitant toward the idea of meeting some other woman of whom Bard appeared to be very fond. Still, she had no right to be rude.

“You know, seeing as the apple is a traditional symbol of temptation…” she began, giving Bard a suggestive look. “Some might say you’re trying to tempt me into something entirely wicked.”

Behind her, Kili cleared his throat pointedly. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was squirming like a fish out of water by now.

“Oh, nothing nearly that unscrupulous,” Bard answered innocently, also ignoring Kili. “Still—you can’t blame me for hoping you’ll take a bite.”

Bella laughed, swallowing the bait. She sank her teeth into the crisp apple, peeling away a bite and taking an indulgent moment to savor the tart fruit. “Very ripe,” she commented. “Very juicy.”

Bard’s eyebrows shot up at that, a slow smile creeping over his face. “And you like it that way, I imagine.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” Fili muttered. “He’s not even talking about—“

Bella shut him up with a firm kick to his shin. “Very much so. Would you like a taste?”

The conversation had shifted to full-fledged innuendo now, and Bard seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself as he leaned down and took a bite from the apple in her hand. “You’re right,” he observed as he chewed. “ _Very_ ripe.”

Then a heavy pounding sounded on the service door in the back, signaling Dwalin’s arrival with his daily delivery.

“About time,” Fili murmured as Kili all but ran to open the door.

“Dwalin?” Bard questioned.

“Mhmm,” she confirmed. “You might want to take cover.”

“I can handle myself, but thanks. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of seeing you later?”

Bella couldn’t help the grin that teased at her lips. “Oh, there might be.”

“All you have to do is call,” he assured her. Then, to her great surprise, as Dwalin came clambering in with the first batch of flowers Bard leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek—somewhat more expertly than she had managed herself. With the last smile that he tossed to her before leaving, she felt her face flood with a blush, while behind her back a trio of disgruntled demons began tossing around derogatory comments about angels’ lackeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Thorin and Bella's hot and cold relationship dynamic. I don't think I've spent that long describing a single kiss since my roleplaying days.
> 
> And we finally get to hear from Fili and Kili, lovable little shits that they are. The visit from Bard was just something I couldn't get out of my head since last chapter. He's turning out to be quite a strong muse; I'm really enjoying showing the difference between his seduction technique and Thorin's.
> 
> Also, all my love to the kind folks of Tumblr who kept me so entertained over the weekend. I got a lot of developmental brainstorming done, largely influenced by the plethora of ideas people were willing to throw my way.


	7. Infantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella makes some new acquaintances and pays a visit to a client.

“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Cotton, and do say hello to Gladys for me, would you?” Bella bade as the old man ambled out the door with a bouquet. He was a regular customer who came in every other week to buy flowers for his wife; the romance of it never failed to make Bella smile.

She had just ducked into the back room to start filling orders again when she heard the door open. As much as she enjoyed working with customers, Fili and Kili didn’t have the same touch for floral design that Ori did, so she was better off putting them in the front while she worked in the back. Granted, that strategy had a considerable flaw now that she knew the two of them were both incubi, but she had to trust that they weren’t going to try any soul sucking while the integrity of her business was on the line.

“Afternoon, ladies, what can I do for you?” she heard Fili say. She rolled her eyes at the deliberate charm in his voice, but she couldn’t deny that he almost always got results.

“This is Bella Baggins’ shop?” asked a young woman with a musical, lilting accent. “I don’t suppose we could—“

Bella nearly cut herself with her stem trimmers when there was a startled cry from the front, followed by a stream of suspicious apologies from Fili.

“Oh— _oh_ , I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry!”

Bella didn’t wait to listen to the scuffle that followed. She bolted into the front of the shop to see Fili and Kili fawning over a distressed girl—a very _pretty_ distressed girl, all smooth skin and toffee colored curls, whose irritation only seemed to be exacerbated by the way the two of them were pawing at her. “Look, I’m fine—could you just—“ Letting out a frustrated noise she slapped their numerous hands away. “Get off!”

“At least let me buy you dinner,” Fili offered smoothly, a wretchedly sincere expression on his face. As he stepped back, Bella spotted the source of the trouble—a big, dark coffee stain that ran down the entire length of her white blouse. “I feel like I ought to make it up to you somehow.”

The girl looked him up and down, her anger faltering the face of his generous offer. Bella could easily guess the thoughts running through her head right at that moment—something along the lines of admitting to herself that he was actually _very_ good looking, and it was very sweet of him to offer, and dinner would almost pay for a new blouse…

The girl hesitated and looked over her shoulder, and it was only then that Bella noticed she hadn’t come in alone. A long-legged stranger clad in a cozy leather jacket slipped closer to the commotion, an evaluating look on her face. Even from across the room, Bella noticed the way her pale eyes cut to the core, and she wondered if the practiced chicanery of the two incubi stood any chance against her discerning gaze. With a head full of severe black locks she cut an intimidating figure—even the fearless Kili took a step back.

Or two, or three…

“What on Earth is that smell?” whined Fili, holding his hand over his nose and backing away. The gesture seemed to offend the young girl he’d been trying to schmooze just moments before—she lifted her chin proudly and regarded Fili with a cold expression, wordlessly rejecting his invitation.

“Mugwort,” Kili declared with a pronounced grimace. “Bloody hell, she’s a witch!”

“That’s a very astute observation,” the woman in leather remarked, moving between them toward the counter. As she did, she pulled her hand out of her pocket and laid a small bundle near the register. “But this is actually for you,” she said, looking Bella in the eye.

“I’m sorry?” Bella blurted, her handle on the situation slipping away rapidly. She moved closer but didn’t touch the bundle, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Don’t worry—it’s just a little something to ward off demons.”

“Demons—?” The florist knew she was wearing her shock on her face, but she couldn’t help it. “You know—?”

“We do,” the woman confirmed, glancing over her shoulder at her companion. The girl with the coffee stain moved to join them at the counter, shooting Fili a dirty look as she passed by. His wistful gaze followed her even as she turned a cold shoulder on him, as if he were genuinely put out by the notion that he’d been rejected.

“My name’s Aragon, but most know me as Strider,” said the tall woman. “I’m a friend of Bard’s. He asked me to stop by and introduce myself.”

“Aragon, as in Katherine of…?”

Aragon gave a small smile and a reluctant nod, looking down at the counter. “Unfortunately. My parents had an interest in history.”

“Ah.” Bella didn’t have the misfortune of suffering from an unusual name herself, but she had more than a few cousins who had not been so fortunate. “And I don’t think that I caught your name,” she added, looking at Fili’s unfortunate victim.

“Sigrid,” the young woman supplied confidently. “I’m related to Bard, actually. My brother Bain and my sister Tilda and I came into town with Aragon when we heard that Bard might need some, er—back up.” She gave a withering look to the two demons out of the corner of her eye.

“Related?” Bella repeated, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Descended, technically,” Sigrid admitted with reluctance. “From his first wife from his days as a bowman, we think. He tries to keep track and that’s what he told us, but it isn’t as though he has records anywhere.”

“Oh.” Bella swallowed hard, feeling strangely winded by this sudden revelation. If she’d met his daughter or granddaughter, she thought she might have been able to handle that fairly well, but the notion of their relationship spanning entire generations was a little hard to fathom.

“We’re here to help you, Bella,” Aragon said gently. She picked up the small, plain bundle and enclosed it in Bella’s palm, pressing her fingertips firmly into the skin as if to lend her one more blessing. Her bright eyes were steady and sincere as that moment of silent communion passed between them, and Bella decided very quickly that there was something about Aragon that made her feel safe. It was the sort of feeling she could get used to.

“Thank you,” she breathed, staring down at the neat little bundle. “So this will work on… you know, other sorts of demons too?” Bella glanced at Fili and Kili, who had gradually migrated to the other end of the shop and were watching grimly.

“You mean Balrogs?” Aragon asked with the hint of a smile on her lips. “Ideally.”

“Of course, if it doesn’t, you’re more than welcome to call on us for help,” Sigrid asserted, digging through her purse for a moment. She pulled out a pen and paper and jotted down a list of phone numbers—her own, her siblings’, and Aragon’s, though Bella had a feeling that if she called any one of them the whole team would probably respond. “I’m not afraid to thwack a devil on the head with a broom a few times if it means it’ll teach him some manners.”

“I might be able to offer a few _slightly_ more viable solutions, as well,” Aragon added.

“Because you’re a witch?” Bella glanced down at the bundle again. “I thought witches were supposed to be—“

“Servants of evil?” Aragon surmised, her eyebrows inching upward. “That’s just a misconception—an unfortunate one. Witches are like anyone else, prone to the same virtues and temptations. It’s just that people tend to misinterpret what we do.”

“And what exactly can you do? Spells, hexes, potions…?”

Aragon smiled in amusement. “Hollywood has a tendency to blow things out of proportion. All of the above, but… maybe not to the extent you’re expecting. You’ll see for yourself soon enough, I’m sure.”

Sigrid glanced up at the clock on the wall and started. “Oh—I hadn’t realized it was so late. C’mon, we’d better get going. Bain and Tilda were expecting us for lunch at two.”

Aragon stuffed her hands into her pockets and cast one last look around Bag End. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen demons congregate in a floral shop before,” she commented. “Still—I have a feeling that the strangest is yet to come.”

“Keep your dukes up,” Sigrid advised Bella with a wink, raising two fists to illustrate her point. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

“Uh?” Bella looked questioningly at Aragon, but found only a smile as she ushered the toffee haired girl toward the door.

“So—call me?” Fili called after Sigrid. Her lack of an answer was punctuated by the heavy impact of the door falling shut. It didn’t seem to discourage him much. He sighed longingly after her, his head canting in consideration. “I think she likes me.”

“You’re as delusional as your uncle,” Bella told him, moving to throw away the now empty coffee cup. “By the way—if you ever pull a stunt like that again, you’re fired.”

“A girl like that’s worth getting fired for,” Fili countered sunnily. “She’s got _spunk_. Don’t you think, Kili?”

Kili responded with a sour grimace. “She’s a relative of Bard’s.”

Fili laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“Oh, for— _get down_ , boy, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Bella grumbled, considering throwing the bundle of herbs at him. “Stay away from her. She seems like a nice girl.”

“I like nice girls,” he answered lewdly, throwing his arms out wide.

“’S true,” Kili admitted. “Nice girls are more fun. It’s an art, you know—the process of corrupting—“

“ _Oi!_ ” Bella barked, stopping him in his tracks. “Nice girl, here! _Not flattered!”_

Fili and Kili shared a laugh. “It’s really too bad that Thorin got to you first,” Kili said. “It’s terrible fun getting under your skin.”

“Probably be more fun getting under her skirt,” Fili added.

“Mm,” Kili hummed in agreement, looking her up and down.

“You filthy little lechers!” Bella exclaimed, moving around the counter to wave the mugwort at them. They retreated immediately, covering their noses and trying to escape as she chased them around the shop.

“Oh, come on!” Fili cried. “Have a heart! That stuff really burns the nostrils, you know!”

“Get rid of it!” Kili begged. “It’s not like you can carry it around at work when all your employees are demons.”

That was a fair point, she had to admit. She looked longingly down at the bundle, not wanting to be rid of it. Then again, if it meant Thorin couldn’t come anywhere near her…

She hesitated, thinking of the heated kiss they’d shared the night before. She could almost taste him again—his hot breath and spicy scent, the way he’d looked at her with such intense, possessive desire. Just the memory was enough to make heat curl between her legs, damn it all.

Did she _really_ want to repel him?

Bella moved to the back door and climbed the stairs outside that led to her apartment. She didn’t want to drive Thorin away, for all that he bothered her—but neither was she willing to admit that she wanted him. Not using the packet didn’t necessarily mean that she was giving in, did it? She’d been doing just fine on her own without any demon repellant—maybe tucking it away somewhere for future use was more of a neutral course of action.

She left the packet in the far corner of her underwear drawer—any demons rooting around in there deserved burning nostrils—and headed back down to the shop just in time to see Ori arrive.

“Hold on, I thought you were coming in at three?” she told him, confused as she checked the scheduling book.

“You said you wanted to run out to check in with the Cornelius wedding,” Ori replied pleasantly. “You asked me to come half an hour early, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Bella shook her head, scolding herself for having forgotten. Clearly, this whole demon thing was getting to her head.

* * *

 

“I’m so relieved you were able to make it,” said Kate McPhee—soon to be Kate Cornelius—as she welcomed Bella into her house. It was a large, spacious place—the sort that suggested considerable wealth, but Bella wasn’t put off by it. She’d grown accustomed to wealthy clients like Kate who wanted the very best flowers for her wedding.

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Bella assured her with a smile. “You want to make sure everything’s just right before your big day—I understand completely. Happens more often than not, really.”

“I should have given you more warning,” Kate apologized, leading Bella through the living room and out to the back patio. Her husband was having tea with someone there, discussing—

 _No_.

No, it couldn’t be.

Bella froze in her tracks, staring at Thorin where he sat in easy conversation with Kate’s fiancé, Rupert. He looked a little different, sporting a dark, neatly-trimmed beard—and she didn’t even want to think about how he’d managed to grow it between last night and today—but it was unmistakably the Lord of Silver Fountains.

“Bella,” he greeted cordially, standing from his seat. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh! Are the two of you acquainted?” Kate exclaimed. “Marvelous! Here, Bella, why don’t you sit down and I’ll fetch some more tea.”

Bella moved stiffly toward the patio table, clutching her folder of designs and transaction documents tight against her chest. She stared at him even as she sat down, unable to tear her eyes away from the unlikely guest.

Admittedly, he did look fantastic with a beard. Bella had never fancied beards in the past, but on Thorin’s sharp features it lent a certain air of distinction and…

 _No_. No, she definitely was not going to do this right now.

“You look like you’ve seen the devil,” Thorin teased, relaxing back in his chair.

“I’m fine,” she growled through clenched teeth.

“Here we are!” chimed Kate, returning with two cups of tea placed neatly on a serving tray. She passed one to Bella before seating herself, leaning eagerly over the table. “Now then—let’s take a look, shall we?”

Bella cast Thorin a wary glance before passing the folder to Kate, who opened it up between herself and Rupert. “Oh, lovely—I’d almost forgotten how much I loved that salmon color,” she commented, poring over the drawings. Picking up the page, she showed it off to Thorin. “Don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it will make quite the impression,” he remarked politely.

Bella hadn’t quite finished glaring at him and was just about to open her mouth to ask what he was doing here when he slid his chair out from the table and stood.

“I’m afraid I’ve stayed far too long—I must get going,” he excused.

“Oh, of course! We understand completely,” Kate gushed, standing up to shake his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, anyhow—it means the world to us.”

Thorin gave her a smile and returned the handshake, then bade farewell to Rupert. Bella was just a little grateful that he made no move to offer her his hand, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from slapping him. She watched as he departed through the house, her mind full of questions.

“Now, then—I was thinking about the ribbons on the bouquets for the bridesmaids…” Kate began, taking charge of the conversation before Bella had a chance to voice her concerns. Not wanting to offend her client, she held her tongue, resolved to beat Thorin over the head for answers later if she had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll admit that this is a fairly uneventful chapter. But I've got an open weekend, which means I'm going to try and finish another chapter and post it tomorrow. Next chapter will be a lot more fun, I promise. ;)
> 
> In the meantime-- fem!Aragorn and Sigrid! I think that they'll be good characters to have around, and now Bard isn't the only one Bella can turn to for help.
> 
> And Thorin, whatever are you doing with that silly disguise?


	8. Every Sinner Has a Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella takes a bath.

Bella didn’t stop into the shop when she returned from her appointment. Though the meeting with Kate and Rupert had gone well, Thorin’s appearance there had haunted her the entire time. When at long last her feet hit the familiar pavement in front of Bag End, she walked instead into the alley that led around the backside of the building, avoiding all contact with demon lackeys.

As soon as she was inside her apartment she locked herself in the bathroom and drew a hot bubble bath, hoping to relieve some of the stress that had built up over the course of the day. Bard’s invitation that morning still lingered at the forefront of her mind and she found herself smiling as she pinned up her curls, contemplating whether _seeing each other_ might, in fact, count as an official date. It’d been a while since she’d had one of those—it was a very enticing thought.

Double checking the lock on the door, she stripped her clothes onto the floor and lowered herself into the bath. The shock of the hot water was enough to elicit a sharp hiss, but just as quickly she adjusted to the heat. Feeling the tension uncoil from her muscles, she let herself sink farther down into the water, indulging in the exquisite aroma of green apples.

For all that she wanted to entrust all her worries to the care of the bath, she still found her mind drifting back to Thorin. She wanted to think about Bard—she tried to entertain innocent little fantasies of cuddling with him once more on his sinfully comfortable couch, or impressing him with a home cooked meal from his own kitchen. But every time, her thoughts tugged stubbornly at the memory of Thorin with that gorgeously severe beard on his chin, giving her that small knowing smile over a cup of tea in her client’s back yard. His audacity was infuriating. He had no boundaries, no sense of shame, and absolutely no sympathy for a girl he’d already pushed clear to the edge.

She dropped her head back on the edge of the tub, at a complete loss as to whether she wanted to kill him or ride him senseless.

“This looks comfortable.”

Bella flailed in the water and barely managed to keep a modest curtain of bubbles in front of her chest as she turned to see him leaning against the counter. He looked entirely too comfortable, and though she could have sworn that she would have seen him in her peripheral vision had he been there for more than a second or two, there was still the paranoia that he’d been watching from the moment she’d stripped naked.

 _“Bloody hell!”_ she cried, furious and completely helpless. “That door was _locked!”_

“If I didn’t know how to get through a locked door I’d be a very sorry devil indeed,” he retorted lazily.

“Get out!” she ordered with a futile splash. _“Get out,_ blast you!”

“Make me,” he told her with a shrug, folding his arms. Bella’s cheeks burned as she eyed the towel rack, knowing she was defeated.

“I really hate you sometimes,” she grumbled, sinking back down into the water.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Well, keep doing what you’re doing—I’m sure that we’ll get it right eventually.”

She tried in vain to grasp at the precious relief she’d just begun to experience minutes before, but it was too late. Thorin’s presence was enough to wind her entire body up like a tight spring, and every means by which she might find release was simply not an option. So she simmered quietly in the hot water, staring straight ahead at the wall.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss,” he commented, pushing away from the counter and crouching near her discarded garments. He scooped up her lacy knickers with one thick finger, eyeing them with the detached interest of a scientist. “It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Put those down, would you,” she growled, feeling her face turn beet red.

He tested the feel of the fabric between two fingers, smiling up at Bella as he did so. “Very nice. Still warm,” he observed, letting the scant underwear drop to the floor. “I’ve always been fond of girls in lace.”

“ _Really_ ,” she responded dryly. “I would have thought you were only fond of girls in nothing at all.”

“That too,” he admitted, standing up and moving closer. She shied back against the far edge of the tub, noting how odd his shiny shoes looked against the old tile of her bathroom floor. They made a faint click with every step he took—steps she knew were deliberately audible seeing as she’d never heard him sneaking around before.

“What are you doing?” she asked weakly, instinctively covering her breasts. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Hm,” Thorin responded blithely, sitting on the edge of the tub. He dipped his fingers experimentally into the water and swirled it around, eyeing her bare knees as they emerged from the cover of the water in an effort to escape his reach.

“If you touch me I swear to god I’ll start screaming,” she promised him.

He laughed, withdrawing the intruding hand. “I have no intentions of touching,” he assured her. “I’m more than content just… looking.” She felt his gaze wander over her bare shoulders and exposed knees and she hugged her arms closer to her chest, no longer confident in the coverage offered by the foamy bubbles.

“You have the most beautiful shoulders I’ve ever seen,” he remarked, his eyes tracing over the wet protrusion of her collarbone. She glanced down at herself, noting the soapy sheen of her skin and the way that the bubbles clung.

“ _Ever_ seems a little extravagant for someone as old as you,” she replied, not meeting his eye. For the first time, she realized that she actually had no idea how old he was.

“But it’s true.” His voice had softened just a little and she hazarded a glance up, noting the intent way that he stared at her. His expression was layered, full of meaning, and a complete mystery. She found herself wishing she was better at reading faces; though she had never struggled with discerning thoughts before, Thorin was a study in subtlety. Just when she thought she’d finally gotten a feel for him, the season of his temperament changed and she felt she’d stumbled across a whole new man.

“What were you doing at the Cornelius’ house today?” she asked, changing the subject before she read too far into it. She sank into the water and stretched out her legs, careful not to let anything show.

Thorin’s eyebrows lifted and the hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He was clean shaven now so the subtle shift was plain to see. “You’ve been dying to know all afternoon, haven’t you?”

Bella gave him a scornful look. “Of course I have. Kate is one of my best clients this summer—you can’t just go waltzing into my business relationships, fouling up my livelihood.”

“I’m not going to foul up your livelihood,” he told her, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“You’re right! You’re not going to because you’re going to stay out of my business from now on!” she warned him sharply.

“I wasn’t interfering with your business,” he replied patiently. “As a matter of fact, I was there on business of my own.”

Bella lunged forward, nearly forgetting her modesty. “Dear lord—tell me Rupert didn’t sell you his soul!”

Thorin laughed, tipping his head back and letting the sound rumble deep in his chest. “No, Rupert didn’t sell me his soul. Not in the way that you’re thinking, anyway.”

“That isn’t an answer!” she fretted, splashing water at him. He frowned in irritation at her but otherwise did nothing to escape her wrath.

“It’s a surprise,” he said after a moment of consideration. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Excuse me?” she gawked. The nerve of him, to dismiss her burning curiosity with so flimsy an excuse as _it’s a surprise!_ Though she was well aware by this point that Thorin’s audacity knew no bounds, he consistently managed to shock her with his blatant disregard for social convention.

“That’s it,” she seethed. “You’ve lost your bath time privileges—get out, or I’m going to ruin your suit.”

“What? Are you going to drag me in with you?” he teased with a grin. “Somehow I don’t think that’d be half so effective as you’d like to hope.”

“Filthy lecher,” Bella grumbled. “You’re just as terrible as those two hellions you call nephews.”

“Why thank you.”

“ _Out!_ ” she repeated forcefully, splashing him again. He cringed but otherwise didn’t move.

“Contrary to what you might be thinking, demons are, in fact, waterproof.”

Bella growled in exasperation, leaning back in the water. Her bath was beginning to cool down—she’d be wanting to get out soon. “Alright, fine. What do you want? What do I have to do to get a little privacy?”

“Do I smell green apples?” Thorin asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

 _Oh_. So he’d figured that part out, had he?

“I like green apples,” she replied off-handedly. She smoothed some water over her shoulders, hoping if she preoccupied herself he wouldn’t notice the way she was avoiding his eye.

“As does Bard,” he accused darkly.

“Plenty of people do, you know,” she snipped, giving him a hard look. “It isn’t as though he _owns_ the smell of green apples.”

“You bathed in it because you were planning to see him tonight,” he continued, unrelenting.

“Maybe.” She adjusted her position in the bath, gathering a few more bubbles around herself as they began to thin.

“Bella,” he warned.

“It’s none of your business!” she asserted viciously. “As much as you might like to think that you own me, I have every right to see who I like!”

“He’s using you.” He said it without batting an eyelash, and though she knew all demons were convincing liars, the thought of it still made her stomach drop.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s been charged with keeping me away from you, hasn’t he?” Thorin reasoned, pressing forward. “He knows you well enough to understand that trying to force you away from me won’t do him any good. So what better way to accomplish his goal than by leading you away by your heartstrings?”

Bella’s pulse quickened, a rush of hurt and doubt running through her head. “Stop it, I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he said gently, leaning forward just far enough that he could reach out and nudge a loose curl away from her face.

“And so is he,” she declared firmly. “And even if he is just trying to manipulate me I don’t see how it makes him any worse than _you_.”

Thorin recoiled, sitting back against the wall. “There’s no saint without a past, and no sinner without a future.”

“What?”

“He and I may have a few things in common, but at least I hold no highfalutin delusions about what I am. I acknowledge my imperfection. He would try to conceal his. You constantly hold me in contempt for deceit, but what you don’t realize is that I am the most honest man you will ever encounter.”

“Bard hasn’t tried to hide anything from me,” Bella said, her voice faltering just a little.

“Did he tell you about his wives? The many women who have entertained your same position in years long past? What about the children?”

Bella felt the cold creeping up on her wet skin. “As if you’re any better. You said yourself that you’d charmed far more women than Bard.”

“True, but I told you of my own volition—the evidence of my affairs did not have to turn up on your doorstep.”

She swallowed hard, faced with an undeniable truth. But did it really make a difference? Thorin was trying to push her buttons—she knew that for a fact. So in the end, if she still went to see Bard and spent the evening blissful and careless in his arms, did it matter what sort of flaws he might have?

“You should also know,” Thorin added after a brief silence, “That if he hurts you I won’t hesitate to tear him limb from limb.”

“However much that thought may satisfy your ego,” she answered coldly, “it’s the very last thing I care to hear.” Sitting back in the tub, she exhaled a frustrated little puff of air. “You know, you have a terrible habit of turning unpleasant at the drop of a hat.”

His lips pursed just a little and he gave her a considering look. “I could start carrying more jewelry.”

Bella gave him a disapproving look, but it was softened just a little by the strangely endearing notion that he seemed to actually think that was a viable solution. “Good heavens, you’re a manchild and you really know nothing about women.”

“Chocolate?” he ventured, one of his eyebrows inching upward.

That was almost enough to make her laugh. “Still a manchild,” she assured him. “Now, I’m getting cold. I need to get out of this bath.”

He canted his head at her as though he didn’t understand. She wasn’t nearly naïve enough to believe it.

“Oh, come on—the least you can do is turn around.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he reminded her.

“That’s hardly the point,” she chastised.

They stared each other down for a brief moment, then finally Thorin shifted and stood up. He retrieved the towel, but rather than give it to her and turn away he opened it wide in front of the tub. “Stand up.”

“No!” She reached out to snag the towel from him but he stepped back out of her reach.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said innocently.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on the side of the tub, giving him her most severe glare. Now that he had her towel captive, she knew that this little standoff could go on for another thirty minutes. But the tub was getting colder and colder and her fingers were all shriveled up. She wanted _out_.

Covering her breasts she abruptly stood up out of the water, angling her back toward him. Unexpectedly, he draped the towel around her shoulders without any hesitation, leaning close just long enough to kiss her cheek near her ear before he started rubbing her arms and back dry.

“Thank you,” she offered begrudgingly as she freed her arms and wrapped the towel above her bust line, careful to reveal as little as possible.

“I live to serve.” He stepped back from the tub and began gathering the discarded garments from the floor for her, and somehow in the wake of the strangely intimate moment she didn’t mind as much as she thought she ought to.

Bella stepped out of the tub and released the drain, and when she migrated from the bathroom to the bedroom for fresh clothes, Thorin trailed after her, depositing the worn set on the bed. He made no move to depart as she opened her closet and began sorting through her dresses, so she laughed and pushed him all the way out the door of the bedroom. With a tiny smile on his face, he didn’t bother to resist. Closing the door she had a silly smile of her own, and it refused to leave as she continued trying to pick something suitable for seeing Bard.

_Damn Thorin. Damn him and his charm and his uncanny talent for getting under my skin in all the most unlikely ways._

Eventually she settled on a polka dot dress of soft pink with a large, daring hole that exposed a generous portion of her backside. It was simple enough not to come across as presumptuous, but it was also just a little sexy. A fair middle ground for not having the slightest idea where they stood.

Digging the phone out of the pocket of her jeans—thank goodness she’d worn pockets today, because her purse was still out in the hall—she sent a text message to Bard: < _Ok if I come over? >_

Less personal than a phone call, but she knew if she risked calling Bard Thorin would be hanging on every word.

Briefly her gaze strayed toward her underwear drawer, where she knew the charm Strider had given her lurked. Did she dare?

Thorin had been trying to be nice, after all. It just so happened that he was very, _very_ bad at nice.

Her phone vibrated almost immediately and she dismissed thoughts of the charm from her head. < _I hoped you would. Going out or staying in? >_

 _< Staying in if you don’t mind. I’ve had a hell of a day.>_ She huffed loudly as she sent off the text, moving to put on the dress. Fortunately, her hair and make-up were still intact. With the addition of some comfortable ballet flats, she was ready to go.

 _< I’ll be waiting.>_ Something about his reply kindled the sensation of butterflies in her stomach; already she felt Thorin’s persistent presence in her thoughts beginning to fade away. Of course, she still had to get past the devil and out the door.

When she opened the bedroom door she found him leaning against the wall in the hallway. “Don’t go,” he implored. “Stay here with me. Whatever it is you want with him, I can give you.”

“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?” she replied, unable to muster much bite. She moved toward the table near the door where her purse was stowed. As she went to grab one of her jackets, she felt his hand close gently around the soft skin of her arm.

“Bella,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. He stepped closer, stretching the tension that hung between them in the empty air until it crackled with energy.

For the briefest of seconds, Bella entertained a tender little fantasy of Thorin. Curling up against him on a cozy sofa, feeling those arms like iron shackles closed around her in a safe little vault. She thought about burying her face against the soft, hot skin of his throat, and she tried to picture the way that his rumbling chest would feel against her palm when he spoke low, sweet nothings into her ear.

“You’re very good, you know,” she told him quietly, letting the fantasies dissipate like smoke into air. “And we both know you’ve put in a commendable effort trying to keep me from him tonight. But I’m going over there, Thorin. Not because you say that I can or I can’t, but because it’s what I choose to do. Now, if you’ll kindly let go.”

The moment of tension and unspoken resistance hung heavy between them, a string drawn taut and threatening to drag them together—in lust for flesh or for blood, she wasn’t certain. But eventually his fingers uncurled from her arm and his hand dropped. She waited for him to say something—some poisonous word or malicious curse that would justify her defiance, but he remained utterly silent.

 _I’m sorry_ , the words popped into her head before she could stop them. They hung on the tip of her tongue like a bitter taste. Why should she apologize? She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Bard was clearly the right choice here.

She didn’t look at Thorin as she walked out the door. She tried to convince herself that it was the right decision the entire walk to Bard’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, we all saw the bath thing coming.
> 
> It's interesting writing Bella and Thorin's relationship. It goes from hot to cold at the drop of a hat and neither of them seems to mind in the slightest.


	9. Safe Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella has dinner with Bard.

Lesson number one in living with a handsome imaginary stranger had been facial expressions, undoubtedly. Rearranging her life around Thorin’s silent observation from a distance had meant she’d become familiar with the practice of studying faces. By no means was she an expert, and she certainly couldn’t read minds. However, she liked to think that she was at least a tad more observant than the typical layman when it came to reactions.

So when Bard opened up the door and smiled at Bella, she was able to interpret it as just a bit more than a cozy expression. She recognized desire there—gratifying when she thought of how long she’d quietly admired him from the sidelines. There was also a camaraderie that was simultaneously refreshing and comfortable, like slipping under a warm, clean blanket. With Thorin, she constantly felt like she was at war; she had to hold her ground, she couldn’t give in, she had to fight back. None of that seemed to exist with Bard. He looked at her like an old friend who had recently become something more—something new and exciting, a thought which invigorated her.

“I must have done something very good to find such a pretty girl on my doorstep,” he remarked, holding out a hand to help her up the step into the house. The gesture was entirely unnecessary, but the chivalry of it warmed her to the core.

“Well, you are an angel,” she remarked, shedding her jacket. She didn’t miss the appreciative glance he spared for the feminine silhouette of her dress; but she was also gratified when it didn’t linger too long on bare skin. “Or had you forgotten?”

Bard laughed and hung her jacket near the door. “You’d best not go calling me that. I can think of more than a few folk who’d be none too pleased. Besides…” he paused, leading her through the living room into the kitchen, “I’d hate for anyone to get the wrong impression.”

“The wrong impression?” Bella echoed with a grin. “Why, Bard—you can’t possibly mean to tell me that you’re anything _less_ than angelic.”

He cast a wry smile over his shoulder just as the aroma of roasting chicken struck her. “I hope you’re hungry,” was the only answer he offered.

“Mm, it smells _divine_ ,” she teased, pulling open the oven door just enough to peek inside. She played innocent as her deliberate wording sunk in, a childish smirk on her face.

Bard grumbled something in response and snatched a chunk of leftover apple from a cutting board on the counter. “If you’re going to spend the rest of the evening trying to come up with bad puns involving angels, then I quit.”

Bella laughed and frolicked over to him, backing him against the counter so she could reach slyly around his bulk to claim a bit of apple for herself. “Just a bit of fun, darling.”

“I can think of a whole list of things that are considerably _more_ fun, and none of them involve ill-conceived plays on words,” he replied coolly, angling his body back against the counter.

She didn’t back off as she popped the chunk of apple into her mouth, letting the tip of her thumb linger just long enough for her to suck off the juice. “Such as?” she asked innocently, watching as his gaze dropped momentarily to the tempting display.

His eyebrows lifted. “Shall we dance?”

“What?” she blurted before she had time to think.

“Come here,” he beckoned with a smile, grabbing her hand and leading her to a cabinet on the far end of the dining room. On top sat a dusty phonograph, a picture-perfect relic from a bygone age. Opening up the cabinet underneath, he thumbed through neatly organized gramophone records and finally pulled one out.

“Dear lord, you don’t mean to tell me that thing actually works?” Bella gaped.

“Here—these used to be all the rage,” Bard defended as he blew the dust off of the record and set it into the phonograph.

“ _Yah_ —a hundred years ago,” she argued.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he countered sourly, winding up the device. “Records were still popular thirty years ago, and you know it.”

“That’s still thirty years ago.”

“And I’ve been around for eight-hundred,” he replied patiently. “You don’t really expect me to keep up with every novelty that turns up on the horizon, do you?”

“Sweetheart, we really need to get you some new music,” Bella said with mock concern, laying a hand on his arm.

Then a few warbling, tinny notes began winding into the air, the warmth of the sound enriched by the pops and cracks that ran through the melody like grey hairs. Bella was momentarily taken aback by the peculiar, homey charm that low-fidelity jazz had to offer. Bard perked up, a nostalgic smile spreading over his face. “Some of the classics just can’t be replaced. Now, come on.” Taking her hand again, he led her out into the clear space of the kitchen as she fidgeted behind him.

“Hold on a second—I don’t—that is,” she stammered helplessly, turning red with awkwardness, “I never really learned how to—“

“Dance?” With a gentle tug he pulled her close against him and she was rendered silent by the proximity. Suddenly she was torn between the pleasure of feeling his arm around her and the troublesome knowledge that she had all the natural grace of a drunk pigeon. “You smell lovely, by the way.”

Bella murmured her thanks, thoughts of apple scented bubble bath far away. She hazarded a glance up into his eyes, noting the patience and warm regard there. “I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”

“No worries,” he reassured her, gently guiding her hand to his shoulder. “There’s a reason why dancing’s always been so popular. There’s nothing to it.”

Any remaining protest was swallowed as they began to sway. Bard moved slowly for her, gradually coercing her hesitation away with charming smiles and easy conversation.  She grew so comfortable with the way it felt for him to hold her that she barely noticed when their feet began to move. Within a few short minutes, they were trotting around the kitchen at a lively pace and Bella was having a difficult time suppressing the elated giggles that bubbled up from deep inside. She still felt remarkably awkward and a small part of her was self-conscious, giving way to the nervous laughter; but Bard was a patient and incredibly amiable teacher. If anything, he seemed to delight in how willingly she surrendered herself to the guidance of his body. There was no denying how easily they moved in tandem; there was both care and reliability in his steady hands, the sort of reassuring strength that made her feel completely safe and at home. Despite her unfamiliarity with dancing, it felt wonderfully natural when he guided her into a twirl and caught her waist again in the snug crook of his arm.

“You’re a natural,” he commended, grinning broadly.

“Or maybe I just have a good teacher,” she returned, pressing just a little closer. As the melody shuddered to a close like an old man bidding his last fond farewell, Bard lifted her and set her easily onto the countertop, pausing to eye the glow that set her features alight. The moment hung all around them in the kitchen; the aroma of apple roasted chicken, the last lingering pops and cracks of the phonograph, the warm light of his home as twilight began to set in outside. More than that, Bella felt herself caught up in a web of zesty energy strung out in the space between them. All at once, she was alight with energy, brimming with euphoric vitality; she felt young and foolish and for the first time in too long, utterly carefree.

Then he pressed forward between her legs and began to lean up, his face canting in the characteristic warning that he had every intention of kissing her. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his face inched closer to hers, his hot breath lingering on her lips.

There was a pause—just a beat too long. Then she felt him draw away. She opened her eyes, confused and more than a little worried.

“I would like very much to kiss you,” he said thickly to her questioning look, his hands curling in on themselves on either side of her.

“Then what’s stopping you?” she murmured, studying his face for some indicator.

“You’ve got more than enough pushy men forcing their way into your life,” he answered, bitterness in his tone. “I don’t want to be another. I don’t want to kiss you unless you…” his gaze flickered down toward her lips and he hesitated. “Really…”

Bella smiled, relief and fondness washing over her in a heavy wave. “Come here, you,” she beckoned, seizing him by the collar and dragging him to her lips. There was the briefest moment of hesitation—a wary, almost tangible deliberation that stood between them like a roadblock. His lips were frozen against hers, caught up in the wellspring of thoughts racing through his head. Then just like that, he gave in. His hands flew to her hips in an instant, pulling her forward to straddle his torso even as her thighs tightened around him.

The first thing she noticed about kissing Bard was the way his small beard tickled delightfully against her skin. She could still taste the apples he’d been snacking on in the lingering sweetness on his lips, imbued like a secret message written in ink only lovers could read. She caught his lip between her teeth and nipped her tongue over the skin experimentally, smiling at the little noise of pleasure that escaped his throat and the way his fingertips dug just a little deeper into the fabric on the back of her dress. He craned upward, his arms wrapping greedily around her waist, hungry for more of her—and she gave it willingly, arching her entire body forward into him. Unlike Thorin, there was no aggression, no assertion of power, no waging of war. Just like their dance, Bella and Bard seemed to cooperate naturally, with a likeness of instinct that kept them at the same pace. He moved slowly, mindful of her comfort—but at the most unexpected moments he almost seemed capable of picking up on her thoughts. When one of her thighs slipped higher along his side, he knew exactly the wordless dare that was running through her head. He slid his hand enticingly over her hip to grab brazenly at her leg, the fabric of her skirt bunching up as he struggled to grip her thigh. It wasn’t what she might have expected from Bard, but all the same it _felt_ right, and if that weren’t enough, there was certainly something to be said for the way her pulse quickened and began to race under the influence of his masterful touch.

He drew away gasping for breath, leaning his forehead intimately against hers. “ _Not_ an angel,” he breathed, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Mm,” she hummed, still drunk on the moment. “Then just what are you?”

“A man,” he asserted, leaning forward to catch her lips one more time. It was a brief touch, a warm disclosure where words would not suffice, then the timer on the oven went off and they both started.

“You never did tell me whether you were hungry,” he chimed conversationally as he went to retrieve the skillet from the oven.

“Ravenous,” she answered with a conspiratorial grin, eyeing his lean figure from behind. He wasn’t as broad in the shoulders as Thorin, but all the same she was surprised by his strength. And _why did she keep comparing him to Thorin._

That was a sobering realization that had her quickly refocusing her attention on the moment at hand. She slipped off of the countertop, joining him near the oven where he was transferring a juicy mixture of chicken, apples, and parsley onto plates.

“I know I’ve said it once already but this looks completely wonderful,” Bella commented.

“Here, try a bit,” he offered, spearing a small chunk of apple and chicken with a fork and guiding it to her lips. She took the bait, smiling at the savory medley of flavors.

“You’re a bloody Iron Chef. I hope you know you didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for me.”

Bard laughed, moving across the kitchen to a modest wine cooler. “What trouble? I like to cook. Once upon a time, it was a luxury if I had enough meat for a stew. These days, with so much good food at my fingertips, I try not to take it for granted. Wine?”

“Only a bit for me, thank you,” she answered, moving to take the plates over to the dining table. “And some water.”

“If you like.” He selected a bottle and fished around in a drawer for a corkscrew.

Dinner went quickly. Bella hadn’t been lying about being hungry, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to gulp it down like a dog. Bard was polite and well mannered, but not awkwardly so; his mannerisms gave the impression of having spent a great deal of time among varied cultures, with an easy adaptability that meshed well with all sorts of company. It was comfortable—just the sort of comfortable she found herself thinking that she could get used to.

But there was still a thought hanging over the back of her mind like a dark cloud, and no matter how well the evening was going, it refused to go away.

She was quiet as she helped Bard clean up dinner. When everything was finished she wandered into the living room, gazing out the front window at the darkened street outside. Bard re-corked the wine for later and joined her momentarily, his solid footsteps resounding across the aged wooden floorboards.

“Bella,” he said, his voice low and gentle behind her. The tone of it was enough to suggest that he knew something was weighing on her mind. She felt one of his hands come to rest on her shoulder, a soothing weight that helped her get her thoughts in line.

“Thorin said something earlier,” she ventured hesitantly.

A gentle tug on her shoulder urged her to turn around and face Bard. She looked into his eyes with reluctance, uncertain how he would respond to her next words. After all, they didn’t exactly paint him in a favorable light. It felt as though she was about to insult him, just after he’d given her a lovely dinner and a dance. Faced with the possibility that he might react poorly, she broke eye contact and her neatly arranged words spewed into a nervous ramble.

“That is, you’ve been nothing but lovely to me, Bard, and I—“ she licked her lips, pausing briefly, “I like you. I really, _really_ do. I always have, actually, though I was never quite sure if you even noticed…” She glanced up again, and when she was met with nothing but a neutral, wary expression on his face, she forced herself to press onward.

“Thorin implied… that is… he seems to think…” She folded her arms around herself and moved past Bard to sit down on the couch, growing more uncomfortable by the second. “He said that your sudden interest in me might have something to do with your duty to, er, keep me away from him. Since I can be awfully stubborn, you know, and telling me I ought not to do something isn’t always enough to keep me from doing it. His thinking is that by asserting yourself as competition for my affection, you might…” She faltered and trailed off as Bard followed and sat next to her on the couch, his expression grave. Bella swallowed hard and looked down, ashamed of herself for even saying it.

“It is true that I was tasked by Thranduil to watch over you,” he admitted. “But if Thorin really thinks the most strategic way of doing that is to—“ he paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the word, “ _Seduce_ you, then he doesn’t know Thranduil half so well as he’d like to think.”

Bella looked up at him with a questioning look. "Thanduil?"

"Your guardian angel," Bard clarified. "As well as many others'. He delegated your protection to me. It's a fairly common practice... minus the romance. Bella,” he laughed nervously, scooting closer and reaching for her hand. “If he knew that I was personally involved with you, he would be _furious_. If he had his way, I would have whisked you away somewhere safe and far from here, with or without your permission. That’s… how he likes to do things, unfortunately. He focuses on results and how they benefit _him_.”

“But he’s an angel,” she reasoned, frowning.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t also be an ass,” he responded without a moment’s hesitation. “Some angels are better with people than others. Just like demons and humans. It’s a pretty universal flaw, actually.”

Bella hazarded a small smile. “So it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Her palm captive in his hold, he rubbed his thumb experimentally across the back of her hand. “Regardless of whether I tell you it’s false, Thorin has sound reasoning. If you’re bothered by the potential… conflict of interest, then we can put an end to this here and now. I want to make sure that you’re comfortable.”

Her first instinct was to protest. She could hear the reluctance in his voice, a subtle ache that told her he felt something genuine too. It felt as though her relationship with Bard was an unopened book, with so much potential that she was eager to dig her teeth into (she tried not to carry that image too far into the realm of the literal as she eyed the protrusion of his collarbone past the open top of his collared shirt). This felt like the relationship she’d been wanting for years—comfortable, easy, natural. A near perfect fit.

But Bard had a point. They were both in the epicenter of a potentially catastrophic situation, and romantic involvement would only complicate things further. If they continued down this road, Thorin was sure to become more and more volatile—and that didn’t even take Thranduil into account. What would he do if he found out about the two of them? Fire Bard as her stand-in guardian angel? Lock her up somewhere?

She considered what it would be like if they ended things here. That would leave her alone with her fearfully tempting attraction toward Thorin—an attraction that she refused to admit to anyone, even herself. If Bard was out of the picture, if she didn’t have the option of a safe harbor near at hand…

Just how long would it take before she actually gave into the devilish bastard?

Without realizing it, Bella’s grip had tightened on Bard’s hand, and she used that hold to pull herself into his embrace. She buried her face in his chest, focusing on his warmth and his scent, the sensation of his heartbeat against her cheek, the sound of his calm breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered.

He was quiet for a moment, his arms curling protectively around her shoulders. “I don’t either,” he finally confessed. “I never imagined it might get this complicated.”

His voice was a low rumble against her ear, a humming vibration in his firm chest that she honed in on, trying to forget about everything else. “I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to think or make any big decisions. And I don’t want to get torn to shreds by a bunch of hungry wolves. I just want to stay right here forever and never move again.”

“Here.” He eased himself onto his back on the couch and guided her down on top of him, letting her curl her arms around his chest as if he were a big, warm body pillow. His arms found their way back around her shoulders, keeping her warmer than any blanket. “You stay right here as long as you like. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

She didn’t answer but instead buried her face in his chest again, closing her eyes as she focused on his breath and his warmth and his heartbeat. After a few minutes he began to hum; a pleasant, meandering tune with no particular beginning or end that buzzed in his chest like the purring of a cat. She let her thoughts grow fuzzy in the winding notes of that tune, and it was the cozy sound of his voice that filled her thoughts as she eventually drifted into an easy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo lots of Bella and Bard here. Fun chapter to write, even if I may have used the words warm and comfortable way too many times. For those hardcore Thilbo shippers, don't worry-- the next chapter will be heavy on Bella/Thorin. 
> 
> For now, at least the poor girl got a break before suffering her next conniption.


	10. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella meets more of Bard's relatives and decides to go to confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was confused by the mention of Thranduil in the last chapter, that was actually a small mistake on my part that I fixed a couple hours after I posted the update. Hopefully everything's clear now.

When Bella woke up the next morning, she was startled by the realization she was not at home in her bed. She was in _someone’s_ bed, and admittedly it was very comfortable, but it was definitely not hers.

As she sat up and noticed she was still wearing her pink polka dot dress, her memory of the night before came back to her. She had fallen asleep with Bard on the couch. He must have moved her to the bedroom after a while—and if he wasn’t here with her, that meant he’d probably spent the night on the couch. Embarrassment flooded over her in a hot wave; not only had she taken complete advantage of his hospitality, but then she’d driven him out of his own bed by passing out on top of him like a drunk.

“Urgh,” she groaned, hitting herself on the forehead with the heel of her palm. “Stupid, _stupid_.”

She started when she heard a quiet knock on the front door. _Shit_. Bard’s house didn’t have a back door, did it? Bella turned and eyed the window, trying to gauge whether she could sneak out. But her purse was still in the main room.

There were quiet footsteps across the hardwood floor and then Bella heard Bard conversing quietly with someone. Multiple someones. _Of course_ , they had to come in. It would have been too much to hope that it was just a friendly postman dropping off the mail. The voices moved into the kitchen, and she sat thinking for a moment, weighing her chances of sneaking out without being seen.

It was really her only option at this point. She certainly couldn’t sit around in Bard’s bedroom all day, interesting little space that it was. Like the rest of his house, it had a very warm, earthy palette, with taupe colored walls and dark bedding. Soft, cozy bedding. She indulged in a private fantasy of spending a night in that bed with the added pleasure of its master’s company; after that incredible kiss on the countertop the night before, she got the strong impression that Bard wouldn’t disappoint.

“Stoppit,” she hissed at herself, jumping up. She made the bed very neatly then peeked into the mirror on the wall, combing her fingers through her hair and trying to straighten out the rumples in her dress. Not that she was planning on being seen, but she still had to worry about the walk home.

When she crept out of the bedroom, she spared only a peek into the kitchen to see who the guests were before she started tiptoeing toward her purse by the couch. Sigrid. And a man and a teenaged girl, who, judging by their resemblance, she guessed were Bain and Tilda. Bella had to admit they were a very attractive family; and from the looks of Bard, it wasn’t hard to tell where they got it.

She was just picking up her purse when she was caught.

“Bella!” Sigrid cried, apparently delighted. Bella froze and stiffly turned, offering a sour smile and a timid wave.

“Good morning,” she bid reluctantly, eyeing the smile on Bard’s face. He handed over his spatula to Tilda and abandoned the stove, making his way over to Bella.

“Sleep alright?” he asked, resting his hands gently on her shoulders and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I slept so well it ought to be criminal,” she admitted, then lowered her voice. “You should have woken me up—you didn’t need to spend the night on the couch.”

“I’d be willing to bet that you haven’t had a restful night’s sleep in quite some time,” he answered softly, smoothing his thumb over her cheek. “I told you before, I don’t mind.”

Sigrid cleared her voice in the kitchen, and when Bella glanced over she found the three siblings all casting curious looks in her direction. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Bard assured her. “Bella’s just a bit embarrassed about sleeping here last night.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the kitchen, ignoring the slight drag of her bare feet as she pattered along beside him.

“Oh, don’t be!” exclaimed Sigrid. “You’ve had a devil stalking you for who knows how long. No reason to feel embarrassed about spending a night somewhere safe and sound. In fact, I’d feel a lot better if you spent _more_ time here where Bard can keep an eye on you.”

Bard cleared his throat, cluing into Bella’s discomfort. “We can talk about that later. For now, I think some introductions are in order. Bella, Sigrid’s brother and sister, Bain and Tilda. Bain, Tilda, this is Bella Baggins.”

“Miss Baggins,” Bain leaned forward and offered a polite handshake. He had a sunny, crooked smile and an open face, just like his sisters, along with Bard’s impressive stature.

“Hello Bain,” Bella greeted shyly. With an encouraging nudge from Sigrid, Tilda gave up her post at the stove and moved forward to shake Bella’s hand. She had a longer face than Sigrid—and though she came across as less assertive than her siblings, she had a sweet, endearing disposition.

“Miss Baggins,” Tilda echoed.

“Tilda.” Bella offered her a smile as they shook hands. “So they know…?” Bella asked Bard, giving him a questioning look.

“Everything,” Sigrid provided.

“For the most part,” Bard nodded. “Angels, demons, my past…”

“We’re here as backup,” Bain added. “Bard can handle himself well enough, but we think he may be in over his head this time. That’s why Aragon’s here, too.”

“If they know everything, then—there was something I wanted to ask you about,” Bella said, looking up at Bard. “Last night you mentioned my guardian angel, Than—…” She hesitated over the name.

“Thranduil,” Bard supplied.

“You said that he’s my guardian angel, along with many others’. But that he delegated the job of watching over me to you. No offense, but if this is really so important, why you and not someone a little more…?”

“Qualified?” Bain provided with a grin.

Bard shot Bain an amused smile before answering. “I’m more of a lookout than anything else. If things start getting out of hand, I imagine Thranduil will take on a more personal approach to the situation.”

“You mean… angels—coming here?” Bella stammered.

“Probably,” Bard confirmed with a nod. “But don’t worry. They’re a little stuffy at first, but once you get used to them they can be very agreeable.”

“ _Can_ be,” Sigrid emphasized, scrunching up her nose in distaste.

“Eggs are done,” Tilda chimed, shoveling at the frying pan with the spatula.

* * *

 

It was Bella’s good fortune that it just happened to be her day off. (Or, perhaps she had spared a _little_ thought to that fact the night before, but certainly _not_ with the intention of spending the night at Bard’s house.) When she finally managed to free herself from the clutches of Bard and his relatives—charming though they were—she headed straight home to freshen up, eager to get a move on. She had things she needed to do, and the sooner they got done, the better.

To her surprise, Thorin was nowhere to be found in her apartment that morning. She had the place all to herself; circumstances she preferred, as thoughts of Bard were still dancing around in her head. She’d had such a lovely time at his house, she simply wasn’t in the mood to go another ten rounds head to head with Thorin.

When she was dressed for the day in a lacy white dress and cardigan, she headed out to the street and walked for several blocks before reaching her destination. The nearest church was incredibly old, a bit more ornamental than she was comfortable with—but all the same, it was kept in good repair, and she’d heard nice things about the clergy.

“Er, I’ve never really done this before,” she said when she’d situated herself in the confessional. It was dim and stiflingly quiet. The priest was completely still on the other side of the screen, and were it not for the vague impression of a pale face and a dark beard, she might have wondered whether he was there at all.

“You’ve recently decided to mend your ways?” the priest asked, the timbre of his voice rich and low. Bella leaned her head back against the wall of the confessional, focusing on the sound. There was something strangely comforting about it that helped her relax a little. This was undoubtedly one of the most awkward situations she’d faced in the past ten years, and considering her recent history, that was saying a lot.

“Something like that.” She swallowed hard, thinking of her conversation with Bard and the others earlier that morning. If angels were likely to show up any time soon, she felt she should have some semblance of spiritual purity to show for herself.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” the priest soothed. “Just say what comes to mind. Begin with that which presses most heavily on your conscience.”

Bella hesitated. That which was pressing most heavily on her conscience was the fact that she was harboring an intense sexual attraction to a _devil_. The amount of sin attached to something like that was probably enough to warrant a whole fleet of priests, but she couldn’t exactly tell him that, could she?

Lying to a priest during confession. Yes, this was going to go well.

“There’s a man,” she began hesitantly. “That is, two men—but one of them I’m not really worried about. The other is…” she paused, forming the planes and angles of Thorin’s face in the shadows in front of her. “Dangerous. Unimaginably wicked. And I…”

“You’re attracted to him?” the priest guessed.

“ _God_ yes,” she gasped, knocking her head back against the wall of the confessional. “Sorry. That is—yes, I am. I mean, I don’t want to be. I know that he’s no good for me, that he’ll be nothing but trouble in the end, but I…” Bella licked her lips and closed her eyes, thinking back to the smoldering kiss that had lit her on fire the other night.

“Tell me,” the priest encouraged. “Tell me what it is that you want.”

“I want to rip his clothes off and ride him ‘til he’s dry and he begs me to stop,” she snipped. “I want to feel him so deep inside of me that my orgasm sends me to the stars and back again. I want to _shag him so_ _hard_ _that he bites the tip off his own wicked tongue.”_ She stopped herself, taking a deep breath as she realized how inappropriately she was speaking to a priest. “Sorry. I just—I have a lot of pent up feelings about him.”

“Clearly,” he replied, and she could have sworn there was a note of amusement in his voice. “You can speak freely here. Let it out. Free yourself from the burden of these thoughts.”

“I can’t get him out of my head,” she continued. “It’s like he’s this… this poison that’s gotten into my blood, and I can’t decide whether I want to kill him or just give in.”

“Would you feel better if you gave in?” he asked, his voice moving a little closer to the screen. “If you possessed him completely, and allowed him to possess you—if you gave him free reign over your body and spirit, don’t you think it would help to ease your mind?”

“I—“ Bella paused, noticing for the first time how her fists were bunched up in her skirt and she’d pulled her hemline higher along her thighs than was appropriate. “I’m sorry? Shouldn’t you be saying—sort of, you know. The opposite?”

“I say whatever is necessary to help guide you on the path to spiritual cleansing. Sometimes this road is not a clear one. While many would say you must resist temptation, I know what obsession will do to the mind. If you taste the forbidden fruit, your curiosity will be sated and you can more easily put it from your mind.”

Bella furrowed her brow. “Funny—I’ve never heard anyone talk about sin that way before. Are you some kind of, I don’t know, new age priest?”

“You said yourself that you had never been to confession before.”

“That’s true,” she admitted.

“Think about it. Just a bit of indulgence—a bite off the apple to quench your hunger. How satisfying would it be to give in to your desires? Think of how it would feel to see him ache with desire beneath you. Imagine touching his body, letting him touch you in all the ways you’ve wanted but have spent so long denying yourself. Think of his hands serving you, devoted wholly to your pleasure—for once not having to perform such service for yourself.”

Bella crossed her legs, her thighs clenching together to stave off the heat building below. “How did you—?” she asked, embarrassed that he’d guessed that last bit.

“I know the type of girl,” he explained.

She shifted in her seat, lewd fantasies now ripe in her thoughts. It was making this whole confession thing remarkably difficult. “I still don’t know that this is the sort of advice you ought to be giving me…” she said, swallowing back her fluster as she tried to straighten her skirt.

“Bella,” he whispered her name like a prayer, making her freeze. “Just give in. Let him take you. Go and live out every one of your wildest fantasies—let him satisfy you as you know that he will.”

She slowly leaned forward in her seat, trying to peer through the screen of the confessional. “I never told you my name,” she said suspiciously.

There was a heavy pause at that, like the priest was realizing that his game was up. She saw a flash of movement on the other side of the screen as he stepped out of his box. She stood up to follow, but he beat her to the punch—as she rose up to push the curtain back his bulky figure appeared on the other side, throwing the curtain out of the way and then pulling it closed behind him.

Thorin.

She very nearly shrieked. She shrunk back against the wall of the confessional, unable to decide whether she was more stunned by the fact that Thorin was here of all places and of all times, or by the fact that he appeared to be imitating a _priest_.

“ _What are you doing??_ ” she breathed, flattening herself against the back of the booth.

“Bella.” He closed in on her, his broad frame blocking any possible escape. The disguise was complete—he wore the proper attire, and the neatly trimmed beard on his chin served as insurance against anyone immediately recognizing him on the street.

“You’re masquerading as a _priest?”_ she whispered emphatically, even as he planted one knee on the seat between her legs and leaned closer.

“You never asked me about my day job,” he replied with a smirk, hunching over her and smoothing his fingers up the column of her neck. “Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about a priest before.”

“I’ve never fantasized about a priest before!” she growled, slapping his hand away. Before _today_ , her brain kindly amended for her.

“But you have fantasized about _me_ ,” he retorted, his eyes straying from her flushed face down to her tensed body.

“You were leading me on!” she protested helplessly, glancing over at the screen. “I was just—“

She was interrupted when he pressed a kiss to her lips, and for all that she was furious at him, it was like a breath of fresh air after ducking under water. She rose up from her seat, gripping his shoulders for balance as she rested her weight on her pelvis astride his thigh. _Just a taste_ , she thought. Just a kiss to vent some of the tension built up between her legs. She arched up into him, letting him lift her closer against his body, a needy moan sliding up from her throat as her pelvis ground into his thigh. She was dimly aware that her skirt had been pushed up high enough to flash her knickers, but at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn. She scooted higher, wanting to get closer, and his hand cupped her rear, supporting her weight and pulling her up.

The beard was different. It was scratchy against her skin and momentarily distracting. But he was so unmistakably Thorin—so brazen and infuriating and deliciously stimulating—she was hyperaware of his arms tightening possessively around her body, his lips pressing hard against hers. She rolled her hips against him, the wetness between her legs eager to invite him in. She felt no shame in biting him more than once and digging her nails into the skin at the back of his neck—it was the least punishment he deserved for toying with her when she was trying to confess.

Then one of his hands moved to her thigh and slid upward, a stroke of fire against her bare skin. His fingers teased lightly at the hem of her underwear and she whined, caught between the overwhelming desire to let him proceed and the knowledge that it simply wasn’t an option. When his fingers began to intrude inside her knickers, her hand snapped down to grip his wrist.

“We are not,” she breathed viciously against his lips, “Having _sex_ in a _confessional_.”

“Why not?” Thorin grinned, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth.

“We’re in a church,” she argued, smacking his shoulder. “We could get caught!”

“I know,” he growled, craning to get at her neck with his wicked, wonderful teeth. She gasped as the sharp flutter of sensation ran through her whole body. Then his thigh hitched between her legs and the bump of pressure had her seeing stars. “Marvelous, isn’t it?”

“No!” she insisted, pushing at him. For a moment he resisted, gripping her just a little tighter, ducking down to try and claim another kiss. Caught between the desires of her mind and her body, she let him—but it was only the briefest of contact before she drew back and struggled more forcefully. The thought of Bard flashed through her mind and churned up a healthy dose of guilt, giving her the strength of will to firmly deny Thorin. With a crushed expression on his face, he acknowledged his defeat and finally yielded, loosening his grip and letting her slide off of his leg.

She straightened her dress, trying to steady her breathing. “Nice try, devil.” She grabbed her purse and tried to slip past him and escape, but he barred her way with one thick arm.

“We’ll continue this later,” he assured her, a serious glint in his eye. There was something ravenous in the way that he looked at her—as though there were a savage, primal lust struggling to break loose just beneath his composed surface. It both frightened and enthralled her, and she fought to keep her thoughts focused under the influence of his gaze.

“That’s not up to you,” she answered coldly, trying to keep her tone authoritative. Nevermind the hot arousal between her legs and the fact that she wanted to jump his bones more than ever. She’d never fantasized about a priest before; she had a feeling that fact was going to dramatically change in the near future.

“I’ve got you now,” he continued triumphantly, his lips curling into a smile.

“No, actually, you don’t,” she replied firmly. She knew he was thinking ahead, to the next time they were alone together in her apartment. The truth was, she had no idea exactly how that was going to play out, but she refused to acknowledge that he’d struck a winning blow. “Now get out of my way.”

“So you can run home and take care of yourself?” he guessed, his eyebrows lifting.

Bella didn’t answer, instead trying to nudge past him. He finally gave in, letting her pass. She strode out into the blessedly cool air of the church, grateful that there didn’t seem to be another soul in sight.

“Think of me when you do,” he called after her, his voice echoing on the stone walls.

Her cheeks burned the entire walk home, and though she’d never admit it to Thorin, that was precisely what she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible.
> 
> This AU is terrible.
> 
> (Wicked fun though, innit?)
> 
> Credit where credit's due-- the bit with the confessional was suggested by capesandteapots on Tumblr. I don't know how we got around to the notion of Thorin moonlighting as a priest, but it's a thing now. Poor Bella.


	11. Sugar and Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets into some of Bella's things that he shouldn't, and Bella bakes herself a chocolate cake as a consolation prize.

After the fiasco at confession, Bella was relieved when Thorin left her alone for the rest of the afternoon. A good portion of her day was spent cooped up at home with smutty romance novels that she kept hidden away in a chest under a few framed pictures—books which she would deny the existence of if anyone asked. She was more than a little paranoid that Fili or Kili would try to pop in for a visit if business got slow downstairs; fortunately they didn’t, and her secret remained safe.

By the time the sun started to set she found herself still fidgeting over pent up frustration, so she decided to take a walk. The fresh air did wonders to clear her head—unfortunately, her relief seemed to send up a red flag to a certain devil.

When she got home and shuffled into the bedroom, she found Thorin sprawled comfortably across her bed, deeply engrossed in the book in his hand. She was more than content to simply ignore him as she put her shoes away in her closet—then she noticed what he was reading.

One of the trashy novels from her secret stash.

“Bugger,” she muttered, nervously moving to escape the room.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Thorin observed, a smug smile audible in his voice. When she glanced over her shoulder at him he hadn’t looked up from his page.

“As of right now you’re at the very top of the list of people I don’t want to be alone in a room with,” she snipped, escaping into the hallway. All of that pent up tension was back, worse than it had been before. Her first instinct was to cook something, but she’d picked up dinner on the way home.

Dessert, then. Definitely dessert. Something with a _lot_ of chocolate.

Thorin followed her into the kitchen at a leisurely pace, book still open before his eyes, as Bella haphazardly started gathering the ingredients for the most decadent chocolate cake she knew. She did her very best not to look at him as he leaned against the counter, apparently paying her no heed.

“ _’My libidinous, wicked queen,’_ ” he read, his tongue snaking deliciously over the words, “ _’Such merciless vengeance has undoubtedly brought low whole nations of men.’_ That’s a good line. I should use that.”

“Put that away,” Bella grumbled, throwing heaps of dry ingredients into a mixing bowl and mixing them together. She did her very best not to dwell on the rich timbre of Thorin’s voice, but he was _terribly_ good at reading aloud.

“ _He moved toward her, and with the knuckle of one curled finger traced downward into the valley between the full peaks of her breasts. ‘Who would satisfy you?’ he asked. ‘Ought I be jealous of this anonymous lover?’_ ” Without so much as pausing in his reading, Thorin crossed the kitchen floor to where she was beginning to measure out her wet ingredients. “ _’Is he even a fraction of the lover that you have in your king?’_ ” Finally Thorin looked at her over the top of the book, giving her form a lurid once-over. “You know, I’m really beginning to feel for this fellow.”

Bella glared at him as she violently stirred the mixture, pausing just long enough that she could reach out and shove him away. The attempt proved unsuccessful; he hardly budged against the meager force of her strength, and before she could withdraw her hand, it had been captured by his grip. He pulled it unwillingly up to his lips and laid a sensual kiss on the soft peak where her palm met the underside of her wrist. She shuddered involuntarily at the contact; the heat of his breath seemed to wash over her entire body, and that soft, silky kiss on such a sensitive little patch of skin seemed to ignite a fuse that ran all the way down to her toes.

“Stop that,” she ordered, her voice wobbling a little as her hand balled into a fist and she yanked it away.

“ _’Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque,’ he murmured against her ear._ ” Thorin continued to read, snaking through the Latin verse with ease. “ _He paused to press a kiss into the protruding collarbone on her shoulder, then continued as the kisses outlined a trail back up her neck, the syllables getting lost in her skin._ ”

Bella pressed her palms into the worktop and leaned over her mixing bowl, biting her lip against the fantasies playing out in her head that she was helpless to stop. _Damn him. Damn him and his manipulation and his gorgeous voice—_

“I know that poem,” he remarked, furrowing his brow at the text as though he were a scholar at study. “By Catullus—a particular favorite of mine. _‘Quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae, lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis, oraclum Iouis inter aestuosi, et Batti ueteris sacrum sepulcrum.’_ ”

She shot him a glare as he recited the Latin poem from memory, apparently unfazed by the language barrier. He slipped as easily into Latin as he might a new pair of infuriatingly shiny shoes. “You soulless bastard,” she muttered, trying to focus on her recipe.

“Of course—how rude of me. You’re undoubtedly only interested in the translation,” he retorted smoothly, setting down the book and shifting away from the counter to corner her from behind. His hands rested tentatively on her hips and he pressed close against her back, leaning down to speak into her ear.

“ _You ask how many of your kisses, Bella Baggins, are more than enough for me_ ,” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair. She bristled slightly at the inclusion of her name, undoubtedly some alteration from the original poem. All the same, it was a momentary upset; as the heat of his breath curled against her neck, she forgot all about it and her head rolled to the side, instinctively granting him access. “ _How many grains of Libyan sand has the stink-weed Sahara cast between the oracle of sweating Jove and old King Battus’ holy tomb?_ ” One of his hands passed downward along her thigh and the other smoothed over her stomach, and briefly she worried that he might feel the flutter of her trembling beneath the layers of cloth and skin. “ _Or when the night is quiet how many stars look down on the liaisons of lovers?_ ” He pressed closer and ran the tip of his razor-straight nose down her neck, as if he might smell the feverish arousal in the blood that sang through her veins. When his lips pressed into the corner between her neck and shoulder, she could do nothing to suppress her shiver. “ _More than enough for your Thorin would be more kisses kissed than curious could calculate or the wicked tongued know to hex._ ” He finished the poem with his lips still on her skin, every feather-light touch vivid as a stroke of fire.

“That’s…” Bella breathed, half-drunk on the worshipful attentions of his lips on her neck, “A lot of kisses.”

She felt him smile against her neck, his lips sliding back up toward the corner of her jaw. “I suppose we’d best get started,” he murmured.

He released her from her confinement just enough to turn her around to face him, an eager lust in his eye as he briefly studied her. She shrunk away from his bright, discerning gaze, leaning her elbows back on the counter just enough that she bumped against the mixing bowl.

“Cake,” she said breathlessly.

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Nervously, Bella broke out of his grip and turned back to her cake batter, drizzling in the last ingredient and beating it quickly. “I—I almost forgot about the cake that I was making. The oven’s already hot.”

She paused to examine the consistency of the batter and Thorin shifted to stand closer beside her, looking over her shoulder at the mixture. This time when he took her hand, she only briefly considered resisting. Curiosity overtook her when he guided her finger down into the batter and—

_Oh, bugger._

Right up into his mouth. Her knees nearly went out from under her as his lips encircled her finger and he sucked the chocolate batter off of her skin. The sensation was infuriatingly keen; she picked up on every little impression, from the surprising heat of his mouth to the wet, delicious slide of his tongue along her fingertip. And if she might have whimpered just a little at that moment—well, it wasn’t as though she could be blamed, could she?

Then a delighted hum of pleasure reverberated in his throat like a low purr. He slid her finger out of his mouth, still holding onto her hand as he contemplated the flavor. “You’re a decadent cook,” he observed, a smile slipping easily onto his face. “I approve.”

It took her a moment to remember how to breathe. Pulling her hand out of Thorin’s grip, she wordlessly grabbed the mixing bowl and poured the batter into a pan before she started entertaining thoughts of alternative uses for the mixture. When it was safely in the oven, she turned back toward Thorin, who was leaning against the counter with the confident air of a waiting predator.

“Thirty minutes,” he observed, glancing at the display on the oven. “Whatever are we going to do with ourselves?”

“ _We’re_ not going to do a thing,” she sniffed, raising her chin as she whisked out of the kitchen into the bedroom. Maybe if she changed out of her dress she’d stop thinking about what it’d be like if he got under her skirt.

Thorin wasn’t far behind. Trailing after her like a big, dopey, incredibly sexual puppy, he lurked in the doorway to her bedroom as she pulled out one of her dresser drawers with more force than was entirely necessary. Sweatpants. Sweatpants were about as unsexy as you could get. Maybe she had a frumpy sweatshirt stashed away somewhere…

“Oh, good, I was wondering when you were going to pull that out,” Thorin remarked. She glanced up at him, momentarily confused until he stepped forward just enough to fish through the back of the drawer and pull out a vibrator—one of a few toys she kept stashed away for especially lonely nights.

Bella shrieked and stole the vibrator away from him. “ _That_ —“ she growled, “Is not for you!”

“Obviously,” he agreed with a predatory grin. “It’s for _you_.”

She grunted in frustration and stuffed the vibrator back into her drawer, ignoring the images that played through her head of the devilish magic Thorin could undoubtedly muster with a sex toy in hand.

The same man she had tried to confess to disguised as a bearded priest earlier that day.

“Get out, I want to change out of this dress,” she ordered, trying her very best to sound stern.

He conspicuously looked her up and down, making no move to comply. “Why? I’m rather fond of that dress.”

She couldn’t decide whether the thrill that curled in her gut was pleasure or nervousness—and the fact that she couldn’t distinguish between the two was equally troubling. “Fortunately, it’s not up to you. _Out_.”

“Bella,” he purred, her name sliding between his lips like a prayer. His fingers moved to her shoulders, and before she realized what he was doing he had nudged the cardigan from her shoulders and dropped it on the floor. Suddenly she was hyper-aware of the cutout in the back of the dress that left her back bared to the cool air of her bedroom—the very reason she’d worn a cardigan in the first place.

Thorin was aware of it too. He stepped closer and wrapped one arm around her, his fingers gently exploring the length of her spine. As they slid downward along her back, his skin warm and rough, his other hand reached up to frame her face, his thumb deftly nudging her head back to look at him. She thought of how she should pull away—how she should tell him off or slap him or do something to make him think twice about approaching her like this. But once again she found herself caught up in an internal battle between pride and desire—the unwillingness to succumb offset by her aching need to be satisfied.

“Precious, beloved creature,” he whispered huskily, his eyes dark. She opened her mouth to reply but found she had no words—so as her lips perched open he leaned down and kissed right at their corner, lingering on the skin long enough for his hot breath to wash over her cheek. He caught her bottom lip between his, sharp teeth teasing at the sensitive skin just enough to make her gasp. It was that little stinging bite that pushed her over the edge; her hands leaped up to rest on the back of his neck and she leaned forward to reciprocate his kiss. When her fingers carded up through the hair on the back of his neck, she took pleasure in the way that he shivered under his touch—it was good to know that even a devil wasn’t immune to little tricks.

Then his hands lifted her by the rear and he was carrying her over to the bed, where he deposited her and situated himself on top with more grace than should have been legal. She pulled away from his kisses just enough to murmur a weak protest, but then his lips found their way to her neck and her words ghosted away, lost in the electric sensation that made her toes curl.

Thorin adjusted the weight of his hips between her legs and her breath escaped her in a shudder, startled by how keenly she _felt_ him. More than that, she was aware of every little way he was touching her; from the languid kisses he was showering on her neck to his rock solid torso pressing into her breasts and the way that his pelvis sank between her legs. And speaking of legs—she couldn’t seem to help the way that hers had curled around him, entangling with his criminally long limbs and rubbing up against the silky fabric of his trousers. Her skirt was pulled up again— _damn him_ —but at least this time he seemed to have the sense not to go for her underwear. Of course, the way that his hips were grinding into hers suggested exactly what was on his mind.

Her head rolled back and her body arched up into his, hungry for more. It was all wickedly, deliciously tempting; he seemed to know just what to do to set her entire body alight. She had never been the type to move fast with partners in the past, but Thorin certainly made her want to reconsider that reserve.

Then, as she thought of past partners, she found her mind drifting to Thorin’s. She pictured him in a hundred thousand identical scenarios with a hundred thousand different women. She wondered about those women; while it would be easy to pass them all off as promiscuous and shallow, more than likely, most of them were painfully like herself. She wondered if Thorin had a preference for blondes—or maybe he liked brunettes, and she was just a taste of something fresh to cleanse his palate. She wondered what sort of personalities they’d had. Did he favor femme fatales who behaved more like himself? Fili and Kili had mentioned that good girls were fun to corrupt. How many innocent, bright-eyed young women had he completely destroyed? She pictured him creeping into the bedroom of a virginal, idealistic, over-eager girl who thought she’d finally met the man of her dreams, only to discover too late how wrong she’d been about her lover.

“Do you always move this fast with women?” Bella asked, her mood suddenly dampened.

Thorin froze, his face inching slowly upward to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please,” she muttered bitterly, nudging his shoulder to try and get him to move off of her. It was as effective as trying to nudge a two ton boulder. “You said yourself there’ve been countless others. Actually, what I’d _really_ like to know is what happens next. What happened to those others, and what happens to me when I give in and you’re through with me, hm?”

That was a sobering thought. Her mood all but spoiled, she extracted herself from him as best she could without his help. Though she was still trapped under him, they were no longer intertwined so intimately. Giving him her best cold, expectant look, she met his eye as he processed her words.

“You’re not like all the rest, Bella,” he assured her, leaning down to give her a slow kiss on the cheek. She accepted it with as much detachment as she could muster, trying to ignore the fiery embers in her core.

“You—are special. _You_ I would have for my queen.” When he pulled back he gave her an imploring look, as though willing her to believe him.

“How romantic,” she remarked dryly. “I’m sure every other woman thought so too. Here’s the trouble, love—you’re a _devil_. A Prince of Hell. As of right now, there is nothing that makes me want to believe you, and I’m afraid that those sad puppy eyes just aren’t going to cut it. If that worked on me, Fili and Kili would have run me out of business months ago.”

The mention of his nephews seemed to be just enough to spoil the mood for Thorin, too. He breathed a sigh of exasperation and drew himself off of her body, standing up from the bed. “Then you leave me no option,” he observed begrudgingly. “There’s nothing I can say that you will believe.”

“Clever boy,” Bella quipped, sitting up and pulling her legs up against her chest.

“What must I do to earn your trust?” he asked, staring intently at her. Admittedly, the sincerity in his eyes stabbed her right in her sentimental heart. But she willed herself not to believe it. Now that she’d dragged herself out from under his spell, she wasn’t keen to fall back under it again.

“Well, you could start by not lying, or, _you know_ , not keeping important little details from me like how you apparently spend your days _pretending to be a priest_ ,” she snipped. “Is there anything else you feel you ought to get off your chest? You’re not Jerry Springer’s brother, are you?”

His jaw set in annoyance. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Yes—well, you just keep thinking about that and let me know if anything comes up.” She pulled herself off of the bed and went into the living room, picking up a book to read along the way. She specifically grabbed the most austere, unsexy piece of literature she could find. She felt like she needed to be dunked in cold water—for now, a figurative dunk would have to do.

Settling into one corner of the couch, eventually Lobelia appeared from her lazy corner of the living room and jumped up into Bella’s lap. The company was welcome, considering Thorin was nowhere in sight. She was just beginning to think that she’d managed to scare him off when he shuffled out of the bedroom and leaned on the hall corner, watching Bella where she read on the sofa. He stood there for several minutes, observing in silence, and she did her very best to ignore him. She’d dealt with his image watching her through reflections for entire months; she could handle a few minutes of the real thing.

 “You’re right, you know,” he eventually said, to her surprise. “You have no reason to believe that I won’t take advantage of you in the very worst of ways. There’s nothing I can do to change that—I am what I am. But whatever it takes, I’m going to prove that my heart belongs only to you.”

Bella stared down at her book, her mind far away from the words printed on the page. She couldn’t think of any response to that. Fortunately, she was saved the trouble by the oven timer. She all but jumped up from her spot on the couch, startling Lobelia as she went to retrieve the dessert from the oven. She was getting very good at denying herself incredible sex; the least she could do was have her cake and eat it too.

Thorin followed her around the corner, stationing himself at the very edge of the kitchen as she set the cake aside to cool and started cleaning up her mess from earlier. When she thought he wasn’t looking she scooped a bit of batter from the mixing bowl with her finger and popped it into her mouth, trying to ignore the recollection of Thorin’s tongue sliding over her skin. When she glanced over at him and found him staring at her, she sheepishly drew the finger back out of her mouth again, rushing to wash out the mixing bowl before the wicked cake batter could do any more harm.

As soon as the cake was cooled she frosted it and cut off a slice. Without asking, she cut one off for Thorin, too. Though he’d never shown much interest in food before, he was just as sex-deprived as she was; she figured maybe some chocolate would do him a little good. Retrieving a pair of forks, she plopped a small plate of cake in front of him.

“Dig in,” she encouraged, slicing eagerly into her own cake. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her and cast a wary glance toward the cake, to which she responded by nudging him with her foot. “Oh, come on. You liked the batter well enough.”

“Is this a peace offering?” he asked, still making no move toward the cake.

Bella grinned and set down her plate to slice off a bite of his cake. “Let’s call it an armistice, shall we? Now come on—just try a bite.” The dessert laden fork hovered in front of his severe mouth, and only when she stepped a little closer and gave him her most enticing look did he finally yield. He stared down at the countertop with a look of intense concentration as he sampled the cake; then slowly, a smile tugged at his lips and he gave Bella a warm look.

“I don’t usually care for mortal confections—but this is quite good,” he admitted.

“ _Quite good,_ ” she repeated, snorting a laugh. “You don’t like anything but sex and money, apparently.”

“And you,” he added, leaning down to kiss her temple. And as much as she was still trying to ward off the hollow feeling that she was merely sharing him with a hundred thousand other lovers, she felt a dim flicker of warmth in her breast that felt fearfully like affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More silly Bella/Thorin fluff. I promise I'm going to start focusing more on plot in the next few chapters.
> 
> ... Maybe.
> 
> Regarding the romance novel that Thorin's reading-- I didn't actually have access to any smutty romance novels today, so I just referenced some of the old material in the [NSFW tag](http://phantomauguries.tumblr.com/tagged/NSFW) on my old (inactive) Loki roleplaying account on Tumblr. It turned out to be surprisingly applicable to Thorin and Bella. The poem that he recites, obviously, is a real poem by Catullus. 
> 
> This chapter didn't go where I thought it was going to go, but I'm happy with it nonetheless.


	12. Bad Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a wedding!

“I just love weddings.” Kili plucked a champagne flute from a nearby server’s platter and downed the entire thing in one easy swallow.

“Mm, so do I. People should get married more often.” Fili’s response and its accompanying glance toward Bella were as subtle as a Mack truck.

“I didn’t think demons were the sort for holy matrimony,” she countered sourly, gripping at Bard’s arm as they strolled through the manicured grass trailing a pair of mischievous incubi. “Something about a conflict of interest.”

“And besides,” Bard added, “In my experience demons tend to be more the ‘ _suck out their soul and leave them for eternal damnation_ ’ type.”

“Nah, just Dwalin,” Kili countered. “Says it’s a miracle cure for hangovers.”

“Oh, just a little something he picked up from Dr. Oz, I’m sure.” Bella felt she was beginning to develop a new affinity for sarcasm.

“Well, actually—“

“Oh my god!” she swore, pivoting abruptly on her heel and jabbing an accusatory finger in Fili’s chest. “Don’t you dare tell me that Dr. Oz is another one of Thorin’s flying monkeys!”

“Not Thorin’s,” Fili answered with an easy grin. “Definitely in service to Hell, though. You’d be surprised how many TV personalities are.”

“Or you wouldn’t,” Kili shrugged. “Makes a lot of sense, really.”

“There you go again,” Bella muttered with a sigh, turning back to resume her despondent march. “Systematically eliminating my sense of normalcy bit by bit. It’s a good thing Thorin’s rich—he’ll be paying for my therapist one day.”

“No worries. Hell’s got phenomenal therapists.” Fili reached forward to pat her on the shoulder, as though that was supposed to make her feel better.

“I’m going to do my best not to dwell on that,” Bard murmured.

“Fili, go and check the roses to make sure they’ve got enough water. Kili, call Dwalin and see if he can get us any more of that same color—just in case.” The two had been hanging around Bella like a pair of gnats since she’d arrived at the McPhee wedding on Bard’s arm. It seemed that if she had any intention of doting on him, they were going to do everything in their power to make her regret it.

“Just in case a herd of elephants happens to trample the wedding?” Fili exchanged a look with Kili, and neither of the two hellions made any move to abandon their post.

“Shoo.” She batted impatiently at them, and they might not have moved at all had Fili not spotted Sigrid through the crowd. She looked radiant in a summer dress of sky blue, keeping company with her brother and sister. Aragon, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight.

“You heard the lady,” he proclaimed with a broad smile, hooking his brother by the elbow. “C’mon. Work to do, and all that.”

Kili was somewhat more reluctant, and as he trailed in Fili’s footsteps across the grassy lawn he made an unsubtle gesture at Bard: _I’m watching you_. As if there weren’t enough eyes on Bella by now; she didn’t savor the notion that she was beginning to resign herself to the attention.

“I’m sorry about those two.” She rested her head against Bard’s shoulder for a moment, appalled—though unsurprised—at their behavior.

“No worries. I’m used to it. Demons come with the job.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, lending her a bit of strength. If she managed to make it through this wedding without killing one of her employees, it would be a genuine miracle. “It was generous of Kate to invite you to the ceremony.”

“She’s a dear.” Bella’s expression softened as Bard deftly maneuvered the subject away from Thorin’s lackeys. “I wish her and Rupert all the best—I really do.” She tried not to dwell on the thought that for herself, a happy, normal marriage was becoming an increasingly distant prospect.

Bard guided her to a seat alongside the makeshift aisle where the guests were beginning to gather. The ceremony would be starting soon, held on a small patch of pavement in the heart of the arboretum. Bella briefly searched for Fili and Kili in the crowd—as expected, they were trailing after poor Sigrid like a pair of lovesick puppies, unfazed by the presence of her brother. If Bain meant to ward Thorin’s brood away from his sister, he would need to invest in something stronger than a few dirty looks. Aragon’s anti-demon charms would make a good start.

“Shouldn’t you be worried about that?” Bella nodded in the direction of the relentless incubi.

“Sigrid’s more capable than she looks. If they try anything that’s unwelcome, she’ll make sure they regret it.” She couldn’t read his expression, but she thought she detected a small flicker of doubt.

“And if it’s welcome?” Bella didn’t want to suggest that Sigrid was weak-willed, but she knew firsthand just how tempting a demon could be. They seemed to know all the right buttons to push, even if Fili came off as less adept than his more cultured uncle.

Bard inhaled sharply, a stitch appearing in his brow. “Then she and I will be having a long talk.”

“I sense a bit more consternation this time around,” Bella noted with a small smile. “What—you’re not going to chew _me_ out for not thwacking Thorin over the head with a broomstick whenever he shows up?”

“I’m hoping I can get by using more subtle means of persuasion on you.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, and the gesture flooded her with warmth from head to toe.

“If the guests would please find their way to their seats, the ceremony is about to begin.” The announcement had Bella suddenly gripping at Bard’s hand like she’d seen the devil. The truth wasn’t far off—the priest presiding over the ceremony was none other than the Lord of Silver Fountains himself, her personal tormentor.

“Dear lord,” she muttered, shrinking in her seat as she watched Thorin—once again sporting a neatly trimmed beard—take his place at the head of the aisle. “This shouldn’t be legal. There should be some kind of law against being married by the devil.”

“ _A_ devil,” Bard corrected gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “And I doubt Rupert and Kate know about it.”

“Goodness I hope not.” She shot a frantic glance in his direction. “I like to think I’m fairly tolerant of crazy wedding trends, but hell presiding is where I draw the line.”

“I’m glad.” Bard spared her a gentle smile, threading his fingers through hers. Despite his soft tone, she could see the concern in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up to any trouble.”

Bella huffed a quiet sigh, shoulders visibly slumping. “That’s impossible. He’s like a bad penny.”

“Please stand for the bride.”

The crowd stood from their seats, each chair draped in a neat white cover and individually wrapped with a silken bow. Fili and Kili, she noted, had taken seats just behind Sigrid and her siblings, in front of a behemoth of a man—a football player maybe?—that nearly blocked them from view with his bulk. She was just giving a small, disapproving shake of her head when he turned and shot her a smile.

As far as she could tell there was nothing inherently malicious about the smile. Maybe it was the faint scars that crossed his tanned face in a distinctive pattern, or maybe it was just the overwhelming abundance of too friendly strangers as of late—but Bella felt a heavy weight sink down in the pit of her stomach.

“Please be seated.” Bella nearly collapsed into her chair, and suddenly she was incredibly grateful that she’d thought to bring Bard along as backup.

“Dearly Beloved.” The rich timbre of Thorin’s voice rang out over the crowd, dragging Bella’s attention from the hulking stranger. Damn him—damn him and his attractive voice and the fact that she could sit and listen to him talk all day, if every word that came out of his mouth didn’t set her to boiling. “We are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses to join Rupert McPhee and Katheryn Woodbury in holy matrimony…”

She saw Thorin’s piercing eyes flick in her direction, a knowing smile crossing his lips, and she sank down once more. There was something inherently awful about getting dirty looks from the priest in the middle of a wedding. She was going to need a bath after this—uninterrupted this time.

“This union is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly, and solemnly. Into this—these two persons present now come together to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together—let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Bella flinched. Did the priest being a devil count as just cause?

Bard squeezed her hand a little tighter and when she looked up at him, he gave a subtle shake of his head.

 _Apparently not._ She didn’t envy them that conversation at the pearly gates.

“It is with full hearts that we here today join Rupert and Kate as they sanctify this most holy of unions. Marriage in the sight of Manwë is an eternal bond, lasting not only through this world but also into the next. It is a symbol of the undying love that they have for each other…”

Thorin was barely taking his eyes off of Bella to glance at the bride and groom. Though she knew that Kate and Rupert had probably chosen the readings themselves, Bella couldn’t help feeling that they were being spoken directly to her. No one else seemed to notice—no one else except Bard, whose features had grown visibly hard as he stared at Thorin. For a moment she began to wonder if she was going to need to put him on a leash after the ceremony was over, lest he confront the devil directly.

“If you’ll please repeat after me,” Thorin guided Rupert into his vows. “I, Rupert McPhee, take you, Katheryn Woodbury, to be my wife.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Bella once, even as the groom repeated the vows. Rupert was too intent on Kate to notice. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward.”

Kate recited her vows. The rings were exchanged, and Thorin offered the final sanctioning.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Bella released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The moment that the bride and groom were down the aisle and the crowd began to break, Bella was out of her chair and searching for a drink. Something stiffer than champagne sounded ideal, but she’d settle for anything.

And somehow, Thorin managed to reach her before Bard. As his dark figure loomed in front of her, she searched frantically for her date—only to find that he had been suspiciously waylaid by Fili and Kili. She was going to kill those two one day.

“A beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”

“Mm, charming.” Bella winced as she gulped down champagne like mother’s milk. “Although I was somewhat disappointed when the Earth didn’t crack open and spout hellfire and swallow us all whole.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange it next time around.”

Bella choked, giving him a wide-eyed look. She was now to the point that she couldn’t risk not taking everything he said seriously. “Don’t you dare.”

Thorin answered her with an enigmatic smile and gestured to Balin behind the buffet table. “Eat some chocolate. You’ll feel better.”

“Arse.” Bella dug her heel into the toe of his shoe as she stepped past him to do just that.

“Ow,” Thorin murmured quietly, his brow furrowing. Balin looked from one to the other as though trying to decide who was going to win the round. “You shouldn’t injure a priest in public, you know. It’s bad for the soul.”

“And private is another story, I suppose?” She shot him a cold look.

“In private, my dear, you can hurt me all you like,” he purred, leaning over her shoulder with a lascivious smile. “Beat me, break me—I’m yours.”

Bella clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head as she tried to maintain her composure. What were the poor caterers thinking of all this? She looked at Balin with wide eyes, certain she would find some sort of indignant disbelief on the old man’s face, but his attention was fixed on something behind them.

“Thorin,” he warned.

Her tormentor turned to look at something over his shoulder, but Bella was preoccupied with the thought that Thorin and Balin apparently knew each other. She shot a suspicious look in the chocolatier’s direction, trying to decide whether he, too, might be a demon. He hardly seemed the type, but then, neither did Ori.

“Trying to steal my date, Thorin?” Bard’s voice sounded from behind and Bella turned to see him stalking across the grass with Fili and Kili in tow.

“No. As a matter of fact, you can have her,” Thorin replied, his attention not wavering from the crowd. “Take her home. Take her home right now, Bard.”

That provoked several confused looks from Bard and the boys, and all attention turned to follow Thorin’s gaze. Bella didn’t notice anything right away—then she realized that the massive man who’d smiled at her earlier was staring at them through the mulling crowd.

“Azog,” Thorin murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Bloodverse is back in full swing. If you haven't seen it yet, I've posted a new companion ficlet to this one called [Do You Bleed Rubies?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3097031) from Thorin's perspective. It gives a lot of valuable background that should explain some things.
> 
> Fortunately, I left myself a good road map and I was able to jump right back into where I left off. I missed this fic, I really did.
> 
> Also: Azog. :)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love to hear from readers. Feel free to leave me a comment with your thoughts and questions, or find me on Tumblr under the URL rainbowpuppy. My blog has become a visual playground for brainstorming, so you can find lots of goodies related to this fic there.


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